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IT IS ALL BEAUTIFUL, BUT I COULDN't STAY, BECAUSE 
MY MOTHER NEEDS ME.” 



THE MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. 


09294 


BY 




Library ol Cooar^ft* 

■'w. Copies Ktctr/F.o 

OCT 31 1900 


ANNA T. SADLIE^. CwsK'^iry 

CitcS V .V'^ftO, 




ScCOi^D COPY. 

Oti'Ivec^ »o 

0K0t« O'V'SION. 

NOV 24 I4UU 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago: 

SKNZIGER BROTHERS, 

Printers to the Holy Apostolic Set. 



NEW STORY BOOKS 

BY THE BEST CPlTHOLIC WRITERS. 

Each volume handsomely bound with frontispiece 

16MO, EACH 40 CENTS. 


The Mysterious Doorway. By A. T. Sadlier. 

Little Missy. By Mary T. Wajrgaman. 

Old Ciiarlmont’s Seed-Bed. By S. T. Smith. 

The Queen’s Page. By K. T. Hinkson. 

Bistouri. By A. Melandri. 

The Sea-Gull’s Rock. By J. Sandeau. 

A Hostage of War. By M. G. Bonesteel. 

Fred's Little Daughter. By S. T. Smith. 
Jack-O’-Lantern. By M. T. Waggaman. 

An Every-Day Girl. By M. C. Crowley. 

Pauline Archer. By A. T. Sadlier. 

By Branscome River. By M. A. Taggart. 

The Madcap Set at St. Anne’s. By M. A. Taggart. 
Tom’s Luck-Pot. By M, T. Waggaman. 

The Blissylvania Post-Office. By M. A. Taggart. 

A Summer at Woodville. By A. T. Sadlier. 
PANCHOfAND J^^NCHITA. By M. E. Mantiix. 

An Heir ' ok Dreams. By S. M. O’Malley. 

Three Girls, aSstd Especially One. By M. A. Taggart. 
The Armorer of Solingen. By W. Herchenbach. 
Wrongfully Accused By W. Herchenbach. 

The Inundation. By Canon Schmid. 

The Canary Bird. By Canon Schmid. 


Copyright, 1900, by Benziger Brothers. 


\ 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Mysterious Doorway 7 

CHAPTER II. 

The Children at Home 15 

CHAPTER III. 

Marjorie’s Venture 23 

CHAPTER IV. 

Marjorie Inside the Door 32 

CHAPTER V. 

Dick and His Mother Go in Search of Mar- 
jorie 39 

CHAPTER VI. 

Marjorie’s Mother Gets a Letter 47 

CHAPTER VII. 

Marjorie Begins to Explore 65 


5 


6 


Contents. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The Letter 61 

CHAPTER IX. 

Cousin Lucy Gets a Clew 67 

CHAPTER X. 

What Mar-iorie Found in the House 76 

CHAPTER XI. 

Dick Remembers 86 

CHAPTER XIT. 

“The Pretty Child” 94 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Mailiorie Sees Some One 103 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Cousin Lucy’s Story 113 

CHAPTER XV. 

Marjorie Comes Home 123 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Conclusion 131 


THE MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. 

A GIRL and boy stood before the door- 
way and looked at it, as they had done many 
times before. For it was a constant puzzle 
to them why it should be there, although it 
never seemed to be used by any one. So far 
as the children knew, not a soul had ever 
passed in or out of it. 

“I am sure no one ever goes in,^^ said Mar- 
jorie, wrinkling her brows to a frown in the 
effort to think. She had a strong, resolute 
face, that Marjorie, eyes deep-set and fore- 
head protruding somewhat. It was plain that 
she was born to lead, just as the fair^haired 
boy beside her was destined to follow. He 
7 


The Mysterious Doorway. 


was her brother, tall for his age, with a well- 
shaped head, to which his hair was closely 
cut. His blue eyes were obscured by glasses, 
which gave him the appearance of a 
student. 

“I am perfectly sure that no one ever goes 
in that door,’' repeated Marjorie. 

‘^But if they come out,” said Dick, with 
something of awe in his tone. Marjorie was 
startled for an instant; then she replied, less 
confidently than before: 

don’t think they ever do.” 

^^In the night, perhaps,” said her brother, 
^Vhen the streets are very quiet and the stars 
are very bright in the sky.” 

Dick was quite carried away by the picture 
he had conjured up, and Marjorie’s imagina- 
tion, less quick than the boy’s, caught a 
spark from his. After a breathless pause, 
she whispered : 

‘‘^Come away, Dick.” 

And seizing his hand she hurried him 
from the spot. Though it was early after- 
noon, the image Dick had called up was so 
uncanny that the children walked quickly 
away from the haunted neighborhood, pur- 
sued by phantoms of forms that might be 


The Mysterious Doorway. 


9 


in the habit of coming ont silently under the 
stars. 

The mysterious doorway stood in an 
old-fashioned part of New York. It was 
between two large houses, which jutted out 
on either hand. These houses were of brick, 
which had once been of very bright red, and 
they had steps and facings of white marble, 
which gave them an unusual appearance. 
The doorway itself was of slate gray. It 
seemed to have been made in a wall, and had 
three gray steps leading up to it. When the 
children had gone a few blocks Marjorie sud- 
denly turned in her impulsive fashion. 

^^Let us go back,” she said. “It was silly 
to run away in broad daylight.” 

“But if the door should open and some 
one should come out,” objected Dick. 

“Why should it open to-day?” shrewdly 
observed Marjorie. “We have stood in front 
of it every day for ever so long, and it has 
never opened, even the least little bit.” 

Dick, who seldom disputed anything with 
Marjorie, walked beside her towards the spot 
they had so suddenly left. 

“Besides,” said Marjorie, “I wish the door 
would open.” 


xo 


The Mysterious Doorway, 


^^Oh, Marjorie said Dick, aghast. 

It was a gray morning, overcast somewhat, 
though the sun came out every once in a 
while, with flashes of almost unearthly 
brightness. Just as the children had reached 
the fascinating spot once more one of these 
flashes fell across the steps and rested upon 
the doorway. 

Dick and Marjorie held their breaths. 
Were they asleep and dreaming! Was it 
only the flash of sunlight, with its shadow? 
No! the door was certainly ajar. It was a 
thrilling moment. Marjorie clutched Dick^s 
arm, her little frame quivering with excite- 
ment. Dick’s mind had far outstripped 
hers, and was already full of a thousand con- 
jectures as to what might be on the other 
side of the door, or what might be suddenly 
shown them. All at once, Marjorie’s grasp 
of her brother’s arm tightened ; her face was 
full of resolution, her eyes fairly dancing 
with exultation. 

^^Dick,” she said, ^^the door is open at last; 
let us go in.” 

Dick drew back in horror at the sugges- 
tion. 

^‘We might find something wonderful 


The Mysterious Doorway. 


II 


there,” said Marjorie; ‘^perhaps money, and 
oh! think how badly we need it.” 

^Teople don’t find money and things near 
home like that,” objected Dick; "they al- 
ways have to go far away to look for it.” 

"But this place is different from other 
places,” said Marjorie. 

"The door wouldn’t have been left open 
if there was anything inside,” persisted Dick. 

"It might have been forgotten just for 
once,” said Marjorie; "but anyway, Dick, 
whether you come or not, I am going to see 
what is inside that door.” 

She threw back her head, with a light in 
her brown eyes, which Dick seeing, knew 
that it was hopeless to turn his sister from 
her purpose. 

"What will mamma say?” he cried, des- 
perately. 

"Think how splendid for her, if we should 
find money or treasure in there,” replied 
Marjorie. "Poor mamma has no money to 
pay the rent with, and the doctor’s bill came 
yesterday, and she can’t get any coal for the 
winter. Oh, Dick, we must go! If you 
don’t. I’ll go alone.” 

"You can’t do that,” said the boy, firmly. 


12 


The Mysterious Doorway. 


He could be brave enough once he had 
made up his mind, and he could not let his 
sister face unknown dangers without him. 
To him it seemed that there might be perils 
instead of treasures on the other side of that 
door, and even death instead of gold. 

^Tf you go I will go, too,” he cried, reso- 
lutely following Marjorie up the steps, his 
near-sighted eyes strained to catch the se- 
crets which might be revealed by the open- 
ing of the door. Marjorie, gathering cour- 
age, gave the door a push. But instead of 
opening farther, it swung upon its hinges 
with a slight jarring sound. To Marjorie it 
seemed like a human voice murmuring: 

^^Too late!” 

And having swung so for a moment or 
two, it closed gently, but firmly, by some im- 
pulse from within. There was a look of blank 
disappointment upon Marjorie’s face as she 
walked down the steps slowly. This pres- 
ently changed to an expression of determina- 
tion not often seen upon a child’s face. Dick 
for his part gave a sigh of relief. 

As the children turned and stood facing 
the inhospitable door, to Marjorie it seemed 
that every leaf and tendril of the vine which 


The Mysterious Doorway. 


13 


had grown down from one of the big houses 
till it rested on the wall above the door, 
seemed to whisper: 

^^Too late!” 

But the bird piping above had a joyous 
note of encouragement in his voice, urging 
Marjorie to persevere; the spider, solemn- 
ly weaving a great web on the door, gave a 
lesson in his own way: 

“Do as I do! Never be overcome by ob- 
stacles !” 

Marjorie, raising her head as if in defi- 
ance, cried out: 

“I will come here every day until that 
door opens the least little bit, and then I will 
go in.” 

Dick said nothing. He was glad in his 
heart that the fatal door had closed upon 
them, and he ran and leaped at his sister’s 
side, in a manner quite unusual to him, all 
along the homeward way. Marjorie sighed 
and reflected in her old-fashioned way: 

“Dick will never succeed in the world. He 
is always so glad when obstacles are taken 
out of his way.” 

She was annoyed, too, that he seemed to 
rejoice when she was so disappointed. So 


14 


The Mysterious Doorway. 


she said not a word of her plans, nor of the 
mysterious doorway, though it haunted her 
more than ever. She had a burning impa- 
tience to know what lay upon the other side 
of it, and she was resolved that sooner or 
later she would go in. 


CHAPTEE n. 

THE CHILDREN AT HOME. 

Marjorie and Dick lived in a very shab- 
by house on a side street, where all the 
houses were small and many of them were 
rather tumble-down. But the children's 
mother always declared that she did not 
mind that at all; that she was thankful to 
be away from the tenement houses, with 
their overflowing population. 

On the doorstep of this shabby house, that 
same afternoon, stood a careworn-looking 
woman, shading her eyes with her hand and 
watching for their approach. Dick was so 
like her that any one might have known him 
for her son. There was no trace of the 
mother in Marjorie’s strong, almost rugged 
features. 

Her face cleared as she caught sight of the 
children coming up the street side by side. 
The afternoon light fell through the 
15 


The Children at Homt. 


i6 

branches of an elm -tree upon them, and 
they seemed, as it were, bathed in light, as 
sometimes people are seen in a dream. 

was afraid something had happened to 
you, when you were so long in coming,” said 
the mother, as the little ones came within 
speaking distance of her. 

"Something might have happened,” be- 
gan Dick, but Marjorie squeezed his hand 
to be silent. If she heard the story, their 
mother might forbid them to cross the mys- 
terious threshold; and even strong-willed 
Marjorie would never think of disobeying her 
mother. Instinctively she felt, though she 
was too loyal to put the thought in words, 
that her mother, like Dick, would never sur- 
mount any obstacles nor brave any dangers 
that could be avoided. 

So Dick was silent and he and Marjorie 
followed their mother into the kitchen, 
where a bright fire was burning and the tea- 
kettle was steaming merrily away. Dick 
rubbed his hands with delight, and even 
Marjorie relaxed in the genial atmosphere. . 

"I was just waiting till you’d come home 
to make the pancakes,” said the mother. 
"So, Marjorie, run up and take off your 


The Children at Home. 


17 


things, and you’ll be just in time to carry the 
first panful in to the table.” 

Marjorie did as she was bidden, reappear- 
ing from above in time to bring in a smok- 
ing pile of the hot cakes. They were 
delicious, brown and crisp, as only their 
mother could make them. The mother 
stayed without to bring in a second plateful. 

Marjorie and Dick seated themselves at 
the neatly set table as directed, and began to 
demolish the pancakes. 

^Tf we get through the door,” whispered 
Marjorie, ^^perhaps we shall have grand 
things for supper.” 

"I like pancakes,” said the unambitious 
Dick. He was always easily satisfied about 
his food, and he was not nearly so sanguine 
as Marjorie about the advantages to be 
gained by passing through the doorway. To 
Marjorie the land beyond was one of delight, 
to Dick one of terror. 

^^So do I like pancakes!” said Marjorie; 
for it was a point of honor with the children 
to like whatever their mother made for them; 
''but we might have a servant to cook them 
and let mamma rest, and we might have 
stewed plums or peaches and cream besides.” 


1 8 The Children at Home. 

This sounded tempting, but Dick said 
nothing. He thought it better to be sate, 
than go through that terrible door and per- 
haps see something awful on the other side 
of it. When the tea dishes were washed and 
put away, the mother sat down to read some 
stories to the children by the light of the 
sitting-room lamp. These stories she often 
supplemented by reflections of her own, or 
by others she remembered, and these the 
children much preferred. They sat at her 
feet on a brightly colored rug, making an un- 
consciously pretty picture in the flrelight 
which stole in from the kitchen, with a 
warmer glow than usual, Dick thought. For 
it was a contrast to that black picture he had 
drawn of the door opening softly in the star- 
shine to let out a crowd of shadows. Dick 
and Marjorie often interrupted the reading 
to ask questions, and their mother always 
gave them the required explanation. She 
had been well educated in her youth, and 
had preserved the imaginative quality which 
Dick had inherited from her, through all 
the years of toil and loss and privation. 

Marjorie was more absent-minded than 
usual. Ordinarily, she threw her whole soul 


The Children at Home. 


19 


into the reading, and delighted her mother 
by the vivid interest she took in her story 
and the quaint comments she made upon the 
various characters in the tale. But on this 
night she was wondering, wondering, won- 
dering what she would have seen if only the 
door had not closed at just that moment. 
She was reproaching herself, too, that she 
had not rushed forward and gone in the mo- 
ment the door had been opened. 

Once her mother asked her: 

^^What ails you to-night, Marjorie?” 

Marjorie reddened and said nothing. 

‘^‘You don’t appear to have been listening 
to what I read,” the mother added more se- 
verely. 

^^Oh, yes, I was listening,” said Marjorie. 

But she knew very well that it was with a 
divided attention. It was rather a relief to 
her when the book was closed, and her 
mother, restoring it to its place on the shelf, 
went to look after some household details. 
When they went upstairs at bed-time Mar- 
jorie mechanically lit two tiny tapers before 
the statue of the Blessed Virgin, and ar- 
ranged the flowers in the vases, preparatory 
to the night prayer. This was one of her 


20 


Tfie Children at Home. 


duties, and she had performed it faithfully 
ever since she was seven years old. But to- 
night she bungled her simple work. One of 
the tapers fell out of her hand, lighted, and 
put an ugly grease-spot on the floor. 

^Tie, Marjorie,” said her mother, “a great 
girl of twelve to do such a thing!” 

Marjorie hung her head, but said nothing, 
and presently her mother’s calm, weary voice 
began to recite the night prayers and the 
Kosary. 

A sudden thought struck Marjorie. She 
would put in a petition of her own : 

^Tlease, God, let me get through the door- 
way to find some money for mamma. Holy 
Mary, pray that the door may be open, and 
that nothing can close it until I get in.” 

The mother was quite unconscious of this 
strange prayer, but Marjorie managed to sig- 
nal Dick : 

am praying about the door. You pray, 

too!” 

But Dick scarcely felt equal to praying for 
something that he did not want, and replied 
by a shake of the head, which Marjorie, in 
turn, answered by a frown. This attracted 
the mother’s attention: 


The Children at Home. 


21 


^‘Marjorie/^ she said, severely, can^t go 
on with the prayers if yon don’t stop. What 
on earth has got into you to-night? This is 
the third time I have had to speak to you !” 

Marjorie did not offend again, and strove 
to keep her mind fixed altogether upon the 
prayers. But when she got to bed she began 
to wonder again about the mystery she had 
so nearly solved. She fell asleep, only to be 
wakened by a thunder storm. This started 
a fresh conjecture in the little girl’s mind. 
Was it storming on the other side of the 
doorway, or was it all calm and serene there I 
She buried her face in the pillow not to see 
the lightning, and presently forgot every- 
thing in a sound, dreamless sleep. 

Dick, on the other hand, remained awake 
far into the night. When he did sleep he was 
aroused by the banging of imaginary doors 
and the whisper of many voices, all seeming 
to come out of that doorway between the 
white-faced brick houses. 

wish Marjorie would stay away from 
that door,” he said to himself over and over 
again, feverishly. He repeated the words 
even in his sleep, so that his mother heard 
the muttering and bent over him anxious- 


93 


The Children at Home. 


ly. But she could make nothing of his dis- 
connected words, and having felt his head 
and hands, went back to bed again, with a 
sigh of relief. 


CHAPTEK III. 
makjorie’s venture. 

Next moTning Marjorie woke early, her 
mind full of a settled purpose. She would 
steal away without Dick, and if the door 
should be open, she would see what was in- 
side. Then, if things were as wonderful and 
beautiful in there as she expected, she would 
come back and bring Dick thither. But if 
it were, as Dick fancied, terrible or even 
disappointing, it would be best that only one 
should make the experiment. 

During breakfast Marjorie was unusually 
silent and found it hard to finish her plate 
of porridge, because of a strange lump in her 
throat, which seemed to prevent her from 
eating. She drank her mug of milk with 
avidity, however, and felt quite strong for 
her great venture. As she helped her mother 
to wash the dishes and put them in their 
places she kept repeating to herself: 

23 


*4 


Marjorie’s Venturt, 


“If that door will only be openP^ 

The mother, meantime, began to talk after 
a fashion in which Marjorie had rarely heard 
her indulge. She spoke of the past, when 
she had had plenty of servants to work for 
her and lived in a fine house, and how as a 
little girl, she had had a maid to take her to 
school. 

“Perhaps you will be able to have servants 
again, poor mother,” thought Marjorie, “if 
only I can get through that door, and if — ” 

She paused. She had not Dick’s imagina- 
tion, and could not fill in details as he would 
have done. Dick was busy bringing up wood 
and coal from the cellar and clearing out the 
stove, to be ready for making a new fire. So 
he did not hear very much of what was being 
said. 

After the morning’s work was done the 
children’s mother bade them go out and play 
for a while. Marjorie hung about her mother 
in a way not quite usual to her, and after 
she had gone out on the sidewalk she gave 
Dick a trinket which he had long coveted. 
This was a tiny basket cut from a nut shell. 

^TTou can wear it on your chain, Dick,” she 
said. But she watched him rather wistfully as 


Marjorie's Venture, 


35 


he eagerly hung it on the chain, accompany- 
ing a watch, which had been his father’s. 
Marjorie, indeed, felt a pang of regret at 
parting with this little object, which she had 
so long worn, and she had so few personal 
possessions. Still, she felt that she would 
like to make that sacrifice for Dick, in case, 
in case — here the lump in the throat grew 
larger and she could not finish the sentence, 
even in her own mind. Dick was surprised 
that his sister did not refer to the doorway. 
It was unlike Marjorie to give up an idea so 
quickly. He was too much relieved, how- 
ever, to say anything about it himself. He 
had made up his mind, indeed, to avoid the 
neighborhood of that doorway, if Marjorie 
would let him. Marjorie’s face gave him no 
clue to her thoughts. She played marbles 
with him, as usual, having first carefully 
turned up her clean brown gingham frock, 
lest it should get soiled. 

She knew a good many boyish games, as 
her brother had no other playmate. She 
could spin a top or throw a ball better 
than Dick could, while she was an expert at 
marbles. She, on the other hand, had to play 
at odd times, with her only doll, alone. Dick 


26 


Marjorie's Verdure. 


never took the smallest interest in it, though 
he submissively drank tea, which Marjorie 
prepared and served in tiny teapot and cups. 

Marjorie did not win at marbles that 
morning, and sometimes when an alley was 
taken by Dick she would give a queer little 
exclamation and the thought would flash into 
her mind: 

"Oh, suppose something should take me !” 

It was curious to watch her, kneeling on 
the pavement. Her brown straw hat had 
been thrown back upon her neck in the ardor 
of the combat, so that her tangle of dark hair 
fell almost over her face, as she stooped to 
shoot her marbles with steady aim. 

"I think I’m the only girl that plays mar- 
bles,” she said once, suddenly sitting back to 
reflect. 

"Ho, lots of them do,” said Dick. "I often 
see them buying marbles at the five cent 
shop.” 

^Terhaps they play in the house,” said 
Marjorie. "I don’t think they get down on 
the sidewalk to play. But it doesn’t matter.” 

And she leaned over for a shot, vigorous 
and true as ever. She was beginning to won- 
der how &he should ever get away from Dick, 


Marjorie^s Venture, 27 

when all at once their mother appeared at the 
door. 

‘^One of you will have to go to the gro- 
cery/’ she said. ‘‘I need some eggs.” 

Both children volunteered, but Dick was 
finally sent, his mother giving him some 
other commissions to do at the same time. 

“Do you want me for anything?” asked 
Marjorie. 

“No,” said her mother, “you can stay out 
until nearly dinner-time. I’ll call you when 
I want you.” 

“But I won’t be here,” thought Marjorie, 
with a sinking heart, “unless that door 
should be open and I could just take a peep 
and run back again.” 

She gathered up the marbles and carried 
them into the house, putting them into a 
bag in the hall cupboard, while Dick went 
whistling down the street. 

Marjorie watched him with a strange feel- 
ing. Everything seemed strange that morn- 
ing, and everything so dear and precious 
that she dreaded the thought of parting with 
them. Her mother, Dick, the house, the 
sidewalk, her few toys, each had a new in- 
terest, in the light of possible change and 
possible parting. 


28 


Marjorie^* Venture. 


She tried to cheer herself with the thought 
that she would be gone only a little time, and 
that she might come back rich, with the 
power to help her mother and Dick. But 
it was, after all, with a sinking heart 
that, having watched Dick out of sight, she 
turned the corner, walking towards the cap- 
tivating doorway with a slow step, very dif- 
ferent from her ordinary brisk pace. If only 
Dick were going with her ! But she felt that 
it was best for Dick to remain at home. 

It seemed to her that all the people she 
met knew of her purpose and condemned it. 
One man, who looked at her closely, seemed 
to say: 

“How can you make up your mind to do 
such a thing, without your mother^s knowl- 
edge?” 

It was really conscience which spoke with- 
in her, but she fancied the man had spoken, 
and she answered the voice: 

“It is for my mother^s sake, mostly, I am 
going. And if anything should happen to 
me, I have left her Dick. Because if Dick is 
there, she wonH miss me so much. Mothers 
always like boys best.” 

The man, who was leaning against the iron 


Marjorie's Venture. 


39 


railing of the house, regarded the little girl 
with a half-amused, half-reflective look on 
his face. But Marjorie felt the twinkle in 
his eye to be a reproach to her, and hurried 
on to escape him. 

But other men that she met, as well as 
women and children, seemed to join in an 
accusing concert. A great tabby, too, who 
lay drowsily in the sun, looked at her with 
so knowing an air that Marjorie almost 
thought she must he a fairy, while a big dog, 
who gazed up into her face, wagging his tail, 
seemed to he giving her a friendly warning. 
Still she trudged on. How far it seemed, 
though Dick and she used to say it was only 
a step to the doorway ! 

At last, the two brick houses came in sight. 
Marjorie’s heart began to beat fast when she 
saw the familiar white facings. She stood 
still a moment, irresolute. Perhaps, after 
all, it was better to go home and be safe and 
comfortable with her mother and Dick than 
run into danger and trouble for the sake of 
gain. Perhaps her mother would rather they 
should all stay poor than have her try such 
an experiment. 

But something in her character, strong. 


30 


Marjorie^s Venture. 


resolute, and habitually fearless, urged her 
on. She had often blamed Dick for wanting 
to avoid obstacles. She was not going to turn 
back before any had even offered. It must 
be owned that while a desire to benefit her 
mother was the strongest motive which had 
led her on, Marjorie had a burning curiosity 
to see what lay on the other side of the door, 
especially since it had so mysteriously opened 
and no less mysteriously closed. Some one 
must have done that. It could not have been 
the wind, because none was blowing at the 
time. 

This circumstance, which had so terrified 
Dick and made him resolve to keep away 
from the place, had only inspired Marjorie 
with fresh resolve. It had convinced her 
that this doorway was no ordinary one, as 
she had sometimes feared, but that it led 
to some place and concealed something defi- 
nite. 

Her courage and energy returned all at 
once. She thought of her mother, worn out 
with work and weighed down with care. She 
would make the effort, and she began to run 
in order to reach her destination the sooner. 
She was out of breath and panting when 


Marjorie^ 8 Venture. 


31 


she stopped again. Her cheeks were glowing 
red and her eyes shining with excitement. 
There was the doorway, with the vine still 
drooping over it, waving to and fro very 
softly in the light breeze. There was the 
bird, hopping busily about on his own con- 
cerns, and only stopping now and again to 
chirp out a few notes. There was the spider, 
with a magnificent web extending over one 
whole corner of the door and full of flies. 
He had succeeded. All this Marjorie saw; 
and then, with a quick hound of the heart, 
she saw something more. 


CHAPTER IV. 

MAEJORIE INSIDE THE DOOR. 

That which had set Marjorie’s heart beat- 
ing so violently and sent the blood tingling 
through her body was the very simple cir^ 
cumstance that the door was open — ^just a 
little, so little that at first Marjorie had not 
discovered it. 

^^How,” she thought, shall TcnoWj and 
can go home in a few minutes either to bring 
Dick, or — ” 

She did not want to dwell on that other 
possibility. She gathered up all her strength 
and, setting her brown hat firmly on her 
head, she mounted the steps and pushed the 
door. It yielded to her touch. No hand 
came to close it. There was a breathless 
hush. 

Marjorie could hear the heating of her 
own heart. She was conscious of nothing 

33 


Marjorie Inside the Door. 


33 


more. She had a sensation of falling, a vis- 
ion of something green, and a half conscious- 
ness that the door had closed behind her, so 
that she could not go back for Dick, nor yet 
run away. 

She woke at last and found herself 
on a smooth patch of green grass, cool and 
soft to the touch. She lay motionless in the 
pleasant stillness, trying to remember where 
she was. The voice of her friend, the bird, 
gave her this information. It came to her 
through the door, as he chirped about his 
work. She sprang to her feet, feeling a lit- 
tle stiff and sore, and found that she had 
fallen some distance down. The door was 
in the wall, indeed; the same to which the 
treacherous steps outside had led hospitably, 
but there were no corresponding steps on the 
inner side. Had she fallen upon stone in- 
stead of upon the grass she might never have 
awakened from that long, dreamless sleep. 
Her first thought was of the door, but she 
remembered the sharp click with which it 
had closed after her. She realized with a 
sinking heart that she was alone and help- 
less. She could never climb up to that 
door, nor get it open. She stood star- 


34 


Marjorie Inside the Door, 


ing at it with dilated eyes, with the one 
thought uppermost in her mind that, even 
if it should open again, she could not reach 
it. She would never get out. She would 
have to stay in this spot, perhaps, till she 
was old, with white hair and wrinkled face. 

This thought was followed by another. 
She would not even live to be old. She would 
soon die from want of food. A sound aroused 
her and set her trembling violently. But it 
was only a toad hopping about in the soft 
grass at her feet and seeming to eye her in- 
quisitively with its beady brown eyes. She 
fancied the creature had a malicious look 
about it, as though it rejoiced at her mis- 
fortune. At another time she would have 
enjoyed playing with it and making it hop 
by poking it with a stick, but now she turned 
away, almost in fear. It was part of the mys- 
tery of the place, and was associated in her 
mind with that door which she felt was a 
trap to catch children. She stood facing it 
and dared not turn around. Her curiosity 
had all gone for the moment. She saw only 
the patch of green grass at her feet, the 
closed door, with the cruel wall leading up to 
it, and the toad. It is true the sky was over- 


Marjorie Inside the Door. 35 

head, and for a time Marjorie took comfort 
from that. 

But gradually the light began to fade. It 
seemed to the little girl that it must be years 
since the sun had shone upon the pavement 
where Dick and she played marbles. The 
darkness crept on surely, though slowly, and 
as it grew and grew, closing in like some 
fearful shape about the little girl, the tears 
rolled down Mar j oriels cheeks, wetting her 
gingham dress. Her plan of making money 
to help every one faded pitifully away, and 
only the thought remained that she was pun- 
ished for having left home without her moth- 
ers knowledge, and that probably she would 
be left to die there alone. Her home came 
before her very vividly as she had seen it 
the night before, the kitchen fire with the 
kettle steaming merrily upon it, and the ta- 
ble set out in the lamp-light, with pancakes 
heaped in the dish before her. She crept 
very close to the door, and dried the tears 
from her eyes with the back of her hand. 
Even the bird had ceased his labors and his 
song, and she vaguely wondered if the spider 
were out there still, gathering in flies to his 
web with deadly certainty. It seemed to her 


36 


Marjorie Inside the Door. 


that the insect was a bad, malignant fairy 
guarding the door, through which she, like 
the flies, had walked. Dick had been right. 
They should have gone away and never come 
hack to that horrible spot. It frightened her, 
too, to think of the brick houses on either 
side, silent and gloomy, one of them, at 
least, empty, their white marble facings seem- 
ing to her excited fancy like faces staring 
out into the night. 

She began to say her prayers, the same night 
prayers that she had said every night at 
home without thinking so very much of their 
meaning. But now, every word came from 
her heart, and she felt wonderfully cheered 
and comforted when she had flnished. Even 
if she had done wrong, God would take care 
of her, she felt sure, and the Blessed Virgin. 
She liked to remember that her good angel 
was near, with his great wings shutting out 
the darkness. She repeated over and over 
the little prayer to her angel that she had 
learned so long ago, and she told that heav- 
enly guide in all simplicity that she had 
hoped to help her mother by coming through 
the door, and that she had given up having 
Dick with her for her mother’s sake. How 


Marjorie Inside the Door. 


37 


glad she would have been to have had him 
with her, and he would have been so much 
afraid and would have despaired at once of 
ever getting away ! 

As the stillness deepened Marjorie thought 
she heard many noises — voices whispering 
overhead and in the grass at her feet, walls 
creaking and steps approaching. The night, 
with all its terrors, wore itself away at last 
and the white light of dawn began to streak 
the sky and make objects visible. Marjorie 
felt so great a relief that it was almost like 
joy. She sank down on the grass in very 
weariness and fell asleep, while the morning 
broke over the quiet city and the bustle be- 
gan to come into the streets, the sound of 
milk-carts rumbling by and the steps of early 
workers going to their toil. Life in fact be- 
gan, heedless of the little girl lying asleep 
after her night of terror inside that door, 
which had closed her, as it were, into a 
prison. The bird resumed his toil like the 
rest; the spider wove, and the leaves and 
tendrils of the vines were touched by the 
morning sunlight with dewy freshness, as 
new hope touches the weary hearts of men 
and women with the coming of a new day. 


38 


Marjorie Inside the Door, 


Marjorie slept on and on, her brown hat 
pushed back from her head, her face stained 
with tears and her hair falling in a tangled 
mass. She started every once in a while, as 
if, poor little sleeper! she was conscious of 
her trouble. Sometimes she spoke, saying 
audibly, or “Mother . The sound of 

l;er voice caused the toad to hop away to a 
distance. 

It was as well she did not know that a hu- 
man face bent over her, and human eyes 
looked down at her intently. 

The dawn had given place to the bright- 
ness of day, when she started up, dazed and 
bewildered, and still more stiff and sore than 
the first time she had risen. It all flashed 
upon her in the twinkling of an eye, the full 
terror and helplessness of her situation. 

But mth the morning her courage had re- 
turned and the determination to see what 
was to be seen, and if possible to find her 
way. There might be a door at the other 
end; she thought she would try, and so 
thinking, she turned to take a look at her 
surroundings. 


CHAPTEE V. 


DICK AND HIS MOTHER GO IN SEARCH OE 
MARJORIE. 

When Dick had fulfilled all his com- 
missions and come home, his first thought 
was to find Marjorie. She was not on the 
sidewalk nor round the corner. He went out 
to the yard; he thought Marjorie might have 
gone out there to dig up her little fiower bed, 
which lay side by side with his, or to water 
the flowers. There lay the spade and hoe 
she had been using that morning, and the 
watering-pot stood near. But there was no 
Marjorie. 

His mother was very busy cooking the din- 
ner, so Dick did not like to disturb her. 
He took a look into the kitchen, to be sure 
that Marjorie was not there, and peeped into 
the tiny sitting-room, which served for their 
dining-room as well; then he went upstairs 
39 


40 


Searching for Marjorie, 


and searched through all the rooms. He felt 
disappointed at having found no trace of his 
sister, but he said nothing to his mother; 
only went downstairs again and sat on the 
front steps, whistling and feeling lost with- 
out Marjorie. He wondered where she had 
gone. It wasn’t like her to go off on any 
expedition without him, and he felt ag- 
grieved that she had done it now. She had 
no playmates nor acquaintances with whom 
she could have gone. 

When dinner was ready his mother came 
to the door and said : 

‘^Where’s Marjorie? I called her several 
times to peel the potatoes and help with the 
dinner, but she didn’t answer.” 

^^She isn’t here,” said Dick. don’t 
know where she can have gone.” 

His mother took the alarm instantly. 
“Why, what can have happened?” she said. 
Marjorie would never have stayed away 
so long without telling her. She could not 
eat any dinner, she was so worried. There 
were so few places Marjorie could go, and 
Dick had no suggestions to offer. At last, 
with a quick relief, Marjorie’s mother said: 

“I do believe she has gone across town to 


Searching for Marjorie. 41 

Cousin Lucy^s. She was talking about it the 
other day.” 

don’t think she’d have gone without 
telling me,” said Dick; ^^and she would have 
told you, mother, too.” 

^Terhaps she didn’t expect to he gone 
long,” said the mother, ^‘and as you weren’t 
here, she might have thought she would just 
run over. And, of course, Lucy kept her.” 

This idea comforted the mother, hut was 
highly displeasing to Dick. He very much 
resented Marjorie’s stealing away without 
him to visit Cousin Lucy, for such visits were 
not very frequent, and were looked upon as 
a great treat by the children. 

^^And she knows I can’t go for another 
three months,” he said to himself. ^Tt’s just 
as mean as can he, and it isn’t one hit like 
Marjorie.” 

He was too loyal to find fault with his sis- 
ter to his mother. He never liked getting Mar- 
jorie into trouble. Dick spent the afternoon 
alone. It dragged wearily without Marjorie. 
He tried to play, but most games they played 
in common. He took a book, hut found that 
he couldn’t finish a page. His resentment 
against his sister grew every moment. When 


4 ^ Searching for Marjorie, 

it began to be dark he did, indeed, feel some- 
what uneasy, especially when he saw his 
mother^s pale face and anxious eyes. Supper 
was eaten in silence. Then the mother, with- 
out waiting to wash dishes or put things in 
order, went upstairs and put on her street 
costume and her bonnet. 

^^Get your hat and come with me,” she 
said to Dick. ^Tm going to Cousin Lucy’s.” 

She put a light in the window and left the 
key in a place which Marjorie knew, under 
the door-mat, in case the little girl should 
come home while they were gone. Then, 
taking Dick by the hand, she got into a ca- 
ble car, and sat quite silent until they had 
to alight and begin the walk across town. 
Dick was still angry at his sister, but 
it consoled him very much that he was 
going to Cousin Lucy’s house, where 
they would probably have a pleasant 
evening. He felt certain that Marjorie 
must be there. But the mother was 
far from being so sanguine. Marjorie had 
never done such a thing before, had never, 
in fact, gone anywhere without her moth- 
er’s permission, and it was not at all likely 
she would do so now. So there was an ag- 


Searching for Marjorie, 


43 


onizing fear at the mother^s heart which gave 
her no rest, and she counted the blocks with 
feverish eagerness, annoyed whenever the 
car stopped to take on or let out passengers. 
It seemed to her as if they would never reach 
Cousin Lucy^s. All the time Mar j oriels lit- 
tle figure was before her, in the brown dress 
and broad hat as she had seen her that morn- 
ing, and she imagined that same little figure 
wandering through crowded streets, or lost 
in the maze of people and vehicles, getting 
ever farther and farther away from home. 

Dick rather enjoyed the drive in the cars 
through the brilliantly lighted streets, and 
his near-sighted eyes peered out, striving to 
take in as many of the unusual sights as pos- 
sible. The children or their mother rarely 
got into the cars at all, car fare being an ob- 
ject to them, so that the boy was in good 
spirits and almost forgave Marjorie the trick 
she had played upon him, because of this 
treat which it had procured for him. 

At last they reached the street where Cous- 
in Lucy lived. Dick^s hand was grasped 
by his mother, as she sped along at a pace 
quite unusual to her. For she was ordinarily 


44 


Searching for Marjorie. 


quiet in all her ways, and somewhat languid 
in her movements. 

When they arrived at the house everything 
was dark and silent. There was no move- 
ment anywhere, no light in any of the win- 
dows, not a sign of life. 

^^Cousin Lucy may have started to bring 
Marjorie home,” the mother said in a trem- 
bling voice, with an appealing look ai Dick 
to see what he thought. But Dick did not 
like the suggestion at all. It would be a dis- 
tinct disappointment to him. 

^Tt was mean of Marjorie to come without 
me!” he broke out. 

"Oh, Dick, did she come?” cried the 
mother, with a very pale face and a hand 
pressed to her heart. Then, for the first 
time, did anything like real fear enter Dick’s 
soul, and he felt something of what his 
mother had been feeling ever since it grew 
dark. Mother and son together climbed the 
steps. The bell was pulled violently in their 
excitement, and resounded through the quiet 
house in a manner to startle the hearers. For 
some time there was no answer, then a delib- 
erate foot on the stairs, and presently ap- 


Searching for Marjorie. 


45 


peared Cousin Lucy’s factotum, an old 
servant, who had been long in her employ. 

^^Oh, it’s you, ma’am,” said the servant, 
with a look of surprise; '^and Master Dick, 
too. I’m sorry, ma’am, hut Miss Lucy’s just 
gone out.” 

^^Out?” echoed the poor mother, faintly; 
^^and is — is Marjorie with her?” 

^^Bless you, no, ma’am. Miss Marjorie 
hasn’t been here these two months.” 

The mother turned to Dick, with a look 
of such blank dismay and distress upon her 
face that the old servant was moved to ask : 

^^Won’t you step in, ma’am, and have a 
glass of wine or a cup of tea? You look 
ready to drop.” 

“Oh, Bridget,” cried the mother, despair- 
ingly, “Marjorie hasn’t been home since this 
morning, and we don’t know what has hap- 
pened to her!” 

Bridget, horrified at the news, tried to 
think of something comfortinsr to say, hut 
the mother, taking Dick’s hand, hurried off, 
saying : “We must go hack, Bridget. She may 
have come home, you know.” 

“That’s so, ma’am. I pray God she has.” 

So they turned away, the mother feeling 


46 


Searching for Marjorie. 


the need of Mar j oriels robust nature, which 
had often helped her in other emergencies. 
As for Dick, he felt as though he were 
turned to stone, for he suddenly rememhesed 
the mysterious doorway. 


CHAPTEE VI. 


maejorie’s mother gets a letter. 

It gave Dick so great a shock to re- 
member that terrible doorway, whicn had al- 
ready made so unpleasant an impression 
upon his mind, that he began to tremble vio- 
lently. He felt certain that Marjorie had 
gone through that door, and that she would 
never come back to them. No one could tell 
what might have befallen her there. His 
mother was too absorbed to notice the hoy’s 
agitation, and he, with his customary inde- 
cision, began to wonder whether or no he 
should say an3rthing to his mother about the 
door, or wait till the morning. In the first 
place, he had so great a horror of the spot 
that he hated to think of going there in the 
dark. In the second, it seemed to him that 
nothing could he done until the morning in 
any case. If the door were open, Marjorie 
would come out; if it were closed, what could 
he and his mother do? 


47 


48 


Marjorie's Mother Gets a Letter. 


So he decided to wait till the morning. 
But he was haunted all night hy the vision 
of that door opening and shutting, letting 
out fearful shapes and closing in others. 
Sometimes he dreamed that he was heating 
at the door with both hands and calling Mar- 
jorie, but that no voice answered. The terror 
of it all so worked upon the sensitive 
boy, with grief for Marjorie’s disappearance, 
that by morning he was in a high fever and 
quite delirious. 

The mother had now the double anxiety of 
her boy’s illness and Marjorie’s continued 
absence. The strain upon her would have 
been too great for endurance had not Cousin 
Lucy arrived early next morning, and an- 
nounced her intention of staying as long as 
possible. Her advice was to put Marjorie’s 
case into the hands of the police, and with 
characteristic promptitude she went herself 
to police headquarters and caused all the 
stations to be notified of the child’s disap- 
pearance. Then she returned to cheer the 
broken-hearted mother. The latter, being 
more of Dick’s disposition than of Marjorie’s, 
sat with clasped hands and a weary, hopeless 
face beside the bed where Dick lay. The boy 


Marjorie’s Mother Gets a Letter* 49 

raved and raved, often mentioning a door- 
way, and sitting upright with dilated eyes as 
he talked of it. But no heed was paid to his 
mutterings, which would have furnished a 
clue to the police, and have put Cousin 
Lucy^s vigorous mind upon the track. So the 
two women sat near the bed and heard with- 
out understanding those vague words and 
disjointed sentences: 

^^White marble and red brick. Two 
houses. The door! the door! Marjorie, it’s 
open !” 

On one of these occasions when the boy 
had sat bolt upright, gazing before him with 
frightened eyes, the mother got up quietly 
and closed the door, thinking that it dis- 
turbed him to see it open. As Dick sank 
back wearily and ceased his muttering, the 
mother concluded that her surmise had been 
correct. 

Once Cousin Lucy said: 

"My dear, he seems to talk very much 
about some door. What door can it be?” 

"I suppose it is in his mind that Marjorie 
will come to the door,” said the mother, her 
tears falling fast, as they always did when 
she spoke of the little girl. 


50 Marjorie's Mother Gets a Letter. 

Miss Lucy, who had brought some nec- 
essary articles of clothing and meant, as has 
been said, to stay with her cousin, left the 
darkened atmosphere of the sick-room once 
a day, at least, to ask for news at the police 
station. But she returned from each of these 
visits less hopeful. Strong and sanguine as 
she naturally was, she began at last to de- 
spair. 

Marjorie, it appeared, had been swallowed 
up in the great vortex of the city; how, when, 
where, were mysteries which would never, 
perhaps, be solved. Perhaps the child was 
dead, had been thrown into the water, run 
over by the cars. Possibly she had been kid- 
napped. The latter alternative appeared to 
Miss Lucy the most probable, for if any ac- 
cident had happened to the child it must 
necessarily have become known to the police, 
especially as they were naturally eager to se- 
cure the large reward offered out of her 
abundance by Miss Lucy. 

So darkness settled upon the little house, 
where peace and contentment had reigned in 
spite of care and poverty. Marjorie’s mother 
grew daily more despondent and broken- 
down, and as Dick began to mend, it be- 


Marjorie^ s Mother Gets a Letter. 


51 


came clear to Miss Lucy that her cousin must 
break down unless some relief be afforded. 

Then she began to talk of change, and of 
taking Dick and his mother away to some 
quiet country place near the city. But the 
mother almost angrily rejected the proposal. 

"‘Do you think I would leave here?'^ she 
cried. ^‘No! not even for one day or night, 
lest Marjorie should come and find the house 
closed.^^ 

Cousin Lucy saw that farther discussion 
was useless. But she noted with concern the 
growing weakness and pallor of her cousin, 
who had never been of a robust constitution. 
Her only pleasure seemed to be to haunt 
Mar j oriels little room, which was scarcely 
more than a cupboard, adjoining her moth- 
er’s, but in which the child had taken a 
singular pride. The mother now walked 
about it, taking down the little dresses from 
the hooks and hanging them up again. They 
were few in number and mostly shabby, ex- 
cept one in which Marjorie had delighted, 
and which was covered where it hung with a 
sheet. It was a blue and white check of 
cheap material, with a small bow of ribbon 
at the neck. Once Lucy entered just as the 


52 


Marjorie's Mother Gets a Letter. 


mother had spread it out upon the bed and 
was regarding it with sorrowful intentness. 

^Toor Marjorie’s best dress!” said the 
mother, with a wan smile. ^‘She was so proud 
of it. I made it for her just a month before 
she went away.” 

Lucy went out with a great sob rising in 
her throat, and the mother quietly replaced 
the little garment, covering it again with the 
sheet. Another day she showed Lucy two or 
three small ornaments which Marjorie had 
got for her bureau. The bureau itself was 
a small and shabby chest of drawers, from 
which the paint was almost entirely worn. 
It had b:en purchased at a second-hand shop 
and was much the worse for wear. One of 
the ornaments had been a birthday gift to 
Marjorie from her mother, the second Dick 
had purchased for her by his savings, and 
the third the child had herself bought with 
money from her savings bank. None of 
them had cost more than a few cents, and to 
Miss Lucy it was pathetic to think how 
precious they had been to their little owner. 
But she was constantly feeling the pathos of 
that humble household. Lucy was daily 
growing more anxious about her cousin and 


Marjorie's Mother Gets a Letter. 53 

more hopeless about Marjorie, when at last 
something happened to break in upon the 
monotony. One afternoon Miss Lucy re- 
turned from one of her visits to the police 
station, which had become merely formal. 
That day the police captain had volunteered 
a piece of information in addition to the 
usual curt: ^^No news whatever has been re- 
ceived at this office.’^ This was to the effect 
that he believed the child was dead, as no 
trace whatever of her could be discovered. 
When Lucy reached the house she saw Mar- 
jorie’s mother pacing up and down the 
kitchen floor, a bright red spot in either pale 
cheek, her hands clasped, her eyes dark with 
excitement. 

^^What is it?” cried Lucy, springing for- 
ward, fear and hope curiously blended in her 
voice and manner. 

^^Lucy,” said the mother in a tone which 
sounded shrill and unnatural, ^^oh, Lucy ! I 
have got a letter.” 

Saying which she tottered and would have 
fallen had not her cousin’s strong arms sus- 
tained her. Lucy carried her, indeed, to a 
sofa in the sitting-room, but her eyes re- 
mained closed and it was evident that she 


54 


Marjorie's Mother Gets a Letterl 


had fainted. Lucy felt her pulse and heart, 
opened her clothing, and laid her head very low. 
She decided to send for the doctor, who was 
already in attendance upon Dick, if her cous- 
in did not soon revive. But that proved un- 
necessary, as the mother presently opened her 
eyes and fixed them upon Lucy, making an 
effort at the same time to speak. Lucy bent 
near to catch what she said, but could only 
distinguish the words; 

^Tve got a letter I” 


CHAPTEE VII. 

MAEJORIE BEGINS TO EXPLORE. 

When Marjorie had resolved to seek a way 
out, she turned her back upon the door and 
looked about her. She was in a passage 
formed, as it seemed, by the brick houses, 
and upon which a window opened at either 
side. But the walls were concealed with 
vines growing thickly and covered with scar- 
let flowers, which gave to the passage the 
appearance of a bower. Save for the grassy 
plot upon which Marjorie had fallen, there 
was a smooth pavement at her feet formed 
of tesselated stones of marbles. The colors 
were so bright, indeed, that they almost daz- 
zled her eyes. Bright purple, green, red, yel- 
low, were blended in strange flgures. It was 
like an Eastern pavilion. She walked ginger- 
ly over these colored stones, as if afraid of 
soiling or breaking them, and came to what 
seemed a thick and impassable screen at the 
55 


56 


Marjorie Begins to Explore. 


other end. Marjorie, parting the tendrils 
with her hands, found an aperture quite 
large enough to pass through. She stood 
still, holding the foliage apart in her aston- 
ishment. Was she still dreaming? Were 
fairies real, after all, and was this something 
which belonged to them? She remembered 
very well how she had gradually come to the 
conclusion that there were no fairies, and 
how her mother, in one of the firelight tales 
at home, had told her half-sadly that they 
were only creatures of the imagination; her 
mother had added: “Ifs rather a pity not 
to be able to believe in fairies. It seems to 
make the world the darker.” But here was 
a castle with turrets and spires, the roofs 
shining as if they were of glass, the walls of 
as many colors almost as the pavement. 

It stood in the centre of a beautiful lawn, 
with a high fence all around, covered with 
the same thick vines as in the passage. At 
first Marjorie thought she would never have 
courage to approach this wonderful abode, 
but when she had stood a while her resolution 
returned. Why, she had expected to find 
some marvels hidden behind the strange 
doorway! ‘‘Oh, if Dick were only here to 


Marjorie Begins to Explore. 


57 


enjoy them!"" She stepped through the leafy 
opening, which closed as a door after her, 
and her feet were immediately buried in the 
thick grass. It seemed as if no human feet 
had ever trodden upon it, and there seemed 
to be no path. She thought she would walk 
around the house first, and then, perhaps, the 
owner of it might come out and she might 
explain her presence there. 

She did not feel afraid. Her terror of the 
night before had vanished and she had a 
buoyant, confident feeling that, after all, 
what she had hoped for had happened. She 
walked around and around, but she caught 
no glimpse whatever of any human being. 
The windows, some of them with small loz- 
enge-shaped panes of glass of a thousand col- 
ors, glittered in the morning sunlight. Hum- 
ming-birds darted in and out of the vines 
above the door, as if they had been caught 
and set at liberty again to beautify the spot. 
Other birds of variegated plumage fiew 
about, and there were gold and silver fish in 
the fountain which played in the centre of 
the lawn. 

Marjorie examined the high wall, too, but 
saw no trace whatever of any entrance by 


58 


Marjorie Begins to Explore, 


which she might get out. One great gate 
there was in the wall, bolted, and barred with 
heavy iron bars. Just at the moment Mar- 
jorie was not particularly anxious to leave 
the place. She wanted to penetrate farther 
into this strange, fascinating mystery, to 
know whp lived in this enchanted house, 
which seemed to have sprung up by magic 
in the heart of prosaic New York. If she 
waited, surely some one would come out, of 
whom she could discover all that she wished 
to know. She forgot her hunger and weari- 
ness. It seemed as if new life had come into 
her, and new strength had been given. 

So she stood still just where she could be 
seen from all the windows, making a quaint 
picture in her gingham frock ana broad hat. 
Once she thought she saw a face, but it was 
only the sun glinting from the shining roof. 
Again, she fancied some one stood at the 
door, but it was merely a shadow cast by the 
waving syringa near by. 

Her ear growing accustomed to stillness 
broken only by the twittering of birds, she 
believed that a gentle voice called her. But 
no! it was the wind softly stirring in the 
leaves. She was almost certain that she 


Marjorie Begins to Explore. 


59 


heard the tinkling of a tiny bell, but, after 
all, it was the plashing of the fountain in 
which the beautiful fish were at play. She 
spoke, herself, at last, but the sound of her 
voice sounded so loud and shrill in that soli- 
tude that it alarmed her. She could not tell 
exactly how long she had waited, but she 
knew that the morning hours must be slip- 
ping away, and that it was important for 
her to solve the mystery, if ever so little, and 
to get home before nightfall. She knew how 
alarmed and distressed her mother would 
be at her absence, and that Dick, too, would 
be terrified. So she felt that she must get 
home before another night should set in. 
She, therefore, took the daring resolve to 
cross the threshold of the house, as she had 
before come through the doorway. The idea 
took away her breath at first, and she ad- 
vanced slowly, pausing doubtfully at every 
instant and listening. She stood at last al- 
most close to the door, a low one, at one side 
of the house. She could hear the beating of 
her own heart, and thought it was some one 
coming along the hall. But no; silence 
reigned supreme in the house. 

As she put out her hand to ring the bell 


6o 


Marjorie Begins to Explore. 


the door flew open without the slightest 
touch from Marjorie. She looked all around 
for the person who had opened it. No one 
was in sight. She even looked behind the 
door. Nothing was there. She had heard 
no footsteps crossing the hall. It was an- 
other mystery. Marjorie determined, how- 
ever, that she would not be daunted, what- 
ever the obstacles she might have to over- 
come or the dangers she might have to face. 
Anything would be better than keeping her 
mother in suspense for another night, and 
she herself spending that night in the dark- 
ness. She shuddered at the thought, and, like 
the adventurous little heroine she was, reso- 
lutely crossed the threshold and entered the 
hall. Immediately the door closed upon 
her in the same noiseless and mysterious 
manner that it had opened, and she was left 
to gaze around at a variety of objects, filled 
the while with growing wonder and admira- 
tion. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

THE LETTER. 

When Marjorie’s mother had so complete- 
ly recovered from her swoon as to he able to 
sit up, she put the letter which she had re- 
ceived into Cousin Lucy’s hand. 

It was written in a clear, somewhat bold 
hand on the finest of stationery. But there 
were neither initials on the paper, address 
at the top, nor signature at the bottom. It 
read: ^^The one you seek is safe and well, 
but will not be allowed to return to you at 
present. She is on probation. What will 
come of it time alone can tell. Be patient 
and without anxiety. Any attempt to pene- 
trate the mystery will result in discomfiture 
to those who seek, and will spoil everything.’^ 

Lucy’s first unguarded exclamation, ^It’s 
the letter of a lunatic !” sent the blood from 
the mother’s face. But Lucy modified it. 
^^He has method in his madness,” she added; 

6i 


62 


'fhe Letter. 


‘‘aud, my dear, as we ean du nothing, we 
shall be sure to take his advice and be pa- 
tient/^ 

‘^It is hard,^^ said the mother. 

“Harder still to avoid anxiety,^^ said 
Miss Lucy. “But I must go over to 
my house this afternoon. 1 have various 
things to attend to there. While I am gone 
f shall think it all over carefully, and you 
can do the same. Meanwhile, not a word to 
Dick. It would only excite him.” 

Miss Lucy bustled upstairs to see the in- 
valid for a few minutes before getting on her 
things. Dick, who looked thinner and paler 
now the fever had left him, was lying lan- 
guid and silent upon his pillow. He seemed 
unable to collect his thoughts, and spoke just 
as little as was possible. Half a dozen words 
fatigued him so much that he was glad to lie 
still with closed eyes. Miss Lucy gave him 
some roses she had bought for him that 
morning. His pale face brightened into 
something like pleasure when he saw them. 

“They’re pretty,” he said, smiling, and 
keeping his eyes fixed upon them. 

Miss Lucy and his mother often wondered 
if he had forgotten all about Marjorie’s dis- 


The Letter. 


63 


appearance, for he had never once spoken of 
her. 

It seemed as if the fever had swallowed up 
all memory of her, and, of course, they were 
only too careful to avoid agitating him by 
any reference to the subject. Now, however, 
he raised himself slightl}^, and, speaking by 
a great effort, said: •^Give some to Marjorie 
— when she comes in.^’ 

He lay hack upon his pillow with a con- 
tented expression, as if he were glad of hav- 
ing made the effort. 

^^He has forgotten, then-,” said Miss Lucy 
to herself. ^^What a providential circum- 
stance ! He would never have got well with 
that upon his mind.” 

Having bathed his head and straightened 
the pillow, she left him, casting a last look 
back from the door at the quiet figure on the 
bed, just touched by the light stealing in 
through the shutters. Her eyes were moist 
as she went into the little room, which she 
had adopted as her own, and while she was 
putting on her things she reflected on the 
situation. It seemed to her pathetic that 
Dick should have forgotten Marjorie’s dis- 
appearance, and yet that he should wish to 


64 


The Letter. 


share his pleasures with her as he had al- 
ways done. 

‘Toor little Marjorie/^ she said to herself. 
^^God grant no evil may befall, or that she 
is not in the hands of villains.” 

When she went downstairs she found her 
cousin sitting, holding the letter in both 
hands, studying this one link between her 
and the lost one. 

am going to ask you to give me that 
letter,” said Miss Lucy. 

The mother instinctively held it tighter. 

“I want to read it carefully,” Lucy contin- 
ued, ^^and, perhaps, I shall put it into the 
hands of the police.” 

‘^DonT, Lucy! oh, I beg of you, don’t do 
that!” cried the mother, in great agitation. 
^^You see what is said in the letter. It might 
be of the greatest injury to Marjorie to set 
the police on the track.” 

^^Well, we shall see,” said Lucy ^H^ut, my 
dear, should I decide that such a course of 
action is for the best and most likely to re- 
sult in Marjorie’s quick return, will you not 
let me follow it?” 

am afraid,” the mother said. 'T feel 
that it is better not.” 


The Letter. 


65 


‘'But just reflect/^ urged Lucy; “how can 
the mysterious hints thrown out in this let- 
ter prevent the police from working on the 
case? We have no Bastile here, and magic 
is a thing of the past/^ 

The mother bowed her head, covering her 
face with her hands. She was, in reality, 
saying a short, but fervent, prayer. 

“Do what you think best, Lucy,” she said 
at last. “I rely upon your judgment, and I 
have only my instinct to urge against it.” 

So Miss Lucy took the letter, saying as she 
went out : 

“It is a great thing to know that Marjorie 
is alive and well. Our efforts are no longer 
hopeless, for we must and will find her. So 
keep up your heart. I shall be hack soon.” 

All the way home Miss Lucy was very 
much engrossed with the letter. 

“Who can have written it?” she kept re- 
peating to herself. “Where did it come 
from?” 

After she reached her own house Bridget 
could scarcely get a word out of her, so busy 
was she in poring over the document and 
noting every characteristic of the handwrit- 
ing. 


66 


The Letter, 


ma’am, dear/’ said Bridget in de- 
spair, ‘^there’s a dozen things 1 want to ask 
you; and that man’s been here about the 
roof three times already.” 

^^He must come a fourth,” said Lucy, who 
was on the third line of the letter. 

‘‘And there’s a woman from the Home 
with a message. She wants an answer.” 

“She must come back,” cried Lucy. 

“Can’t I get your orders for the week. Miss 
Lucy, ma’am?” asked poor Bridget. 

“Never mind orders ; do as you please,” re- 
turned Lucy. “Only do leave me alone, 
there’s a good soul.” 

Bridget went off in perplexity. Miss Lucy, 
who was so orderly, so business-like in every- 
thing, and who usually attended to the 
smallest details of her household herself, to 
throw it all aside this way was so amazing 
that she could scarcely believe it was true. 
She went down to the kitchen to ponder in 
turn over her mistress’ strange behavior and 
to await her summons. 


CHAPTER IX. 


COUSIN LUCY GETS A CLUE. 

Miss Lucy was, indeed, orderly, method- 
ical and business-like, almost to a fault. Her 
house was managed to perfection. It was not 
a very large one, because she preferred a 
small one. But she might have had her 
choice of several, for she owned considerable 
property and superintended it, much as she 
attended to her domestic affairs. Xo agent 
was ever behind in his accounts, no tenant 
lagged with the rent. She was always kind, 
and even generous to a certain extent, to- 
wards her poor relatives. Marjorie’s mother 
was her nearest of kin, and, in fact, almost 
the only relative that remained to her. She 
was the daughter of an aunt to whom Miss 
Lucy had been specially attached. 

Still, it had required the great trouble 
which had befallen the little household, and 
her daily and hourly presence there, to give 
67 


68 


Cousin Lu/yy Gets a Clue. 


her an insight into the wants, the privations, 
the daily needs, of her kins-people. It had 
been a revelation to Miss Lucy and had had a 
marked effect on her character. Hitherto it 
had sufficed for her to send presents at 
Christmas or on birthdays. The children 
paid her formal visits every two or three 
months. At first Lucy had regarded it as a 
somewhat unpleasant duty to invite them to 
spend a day, and she had even warned 
Bridget to put away everything breakable in 
the drawing-room, and to put a crash cover- 
ing over the dining-room carpet. 

But after a time she had discovered that 
neither little Marjorie nor her brother were 
likely to break ornaments; that they carefully 
wiped their shoes upon the mat before com- 
ing in, and that they did not spill anything 
at table. This discovery once made, she be- 
gan to like the children, and even to look for- 
ward somewhat to their visits, provided they 
were not too often repeated. It was in quite 
a different tone that she said to Bridget the 
evening before one of these occasions : 

"The children will be here to-morrow, so 
air your puddings and cakes.” 

Bridget, like her mistress, had grown 


Cousin Lucy Gets a Clue. 


69 


to hear the news without apprehension, and 
to take a certain pleasure in witnessing the 
children’s enjoyment of her good things, in 
hearing their happy voices and merry laugh- 
ter. Since the trouble which had brought 
her into close relation with her kinsfolk all 
the latent tenderness of Miss Lucy’s charac- 
ter had been brought into play, and she re- 
solved for the future to make things easier 
for mother and children. She knew now how 
many stitches the mother had to put in, often 
late at night, to give Marjorie a new frock, 
or to keep Dick in clothes. She had always 
seen the children looking nice, for they wore 
their best clothes when they came to her. 
Only now did she realize that they usually 
had to wear very shabby clothes, indeed. She 
discovered, too', how seldom they had any- 
thing more than the coarsest food; how 
butter was a luxury, and puddings had to be 
given up, and how, nevertheless, bills ac- 
cumulated, despite all efforts. In fact, she 
saw that Marjorie’s mother was being worn 
away in the struggle. 

As for the children, it was plain that they 
never had any amusement save their own lit- 
tle plays and their brief visits to her. Miss 


70 


'Cousin Lucy Gets a Clue, 


Lucy could see, too, how the ever-toiling 
mother missed Marjorie’s capable little 
hands, which were always willing. So Miss 
Lucy was full of plans for the future. The 
keen regret which she had felt at the thought 
that she would never he able to make up to 
Marjorie for the past was lost now, since the 
coming of the letter, in the excitement of 
attempting to discover Marjorie’s where- 
abouts. 

Miss Lucy had been considered a beauty 
in her youth, and was still, at thirty-five 
years of age, well preserved and handsome. 
She had had a romance, people said, but she 
never talked about it. She was busy, con- 
tented, and prosperous. 

After Bridget had left her Miss Lucy, in 
the solitude of her own room, pondered over 
the letter. As she sat, her feet upon a stool, 
her head resting against the back of a cush- 
ioned chair, one would have thought her al- 
most youthful in appearance. The sunlight 
was streaming over her, but it showed no 
wrinkles on her smooth skin, nor no thread 
of gray in her dark hair. There was a quiet, 
bright, almost exultant look on her face, 
such as used to be there in her youth, and as 


Cousin Lucy Gels a Clue. 


71 


if she were looking out eagerly for something 
which she expected. The room was furnished 
with an almost austere simplicity, character- 
istic of the tenant. But it also had an air 
of elegance which showed that everything 
it contained was of the best — the plain linen 
shams, hemstitched; the daintily embroid- 
ered coverlet and toilet cover and mats, the 
neutral-tinted carpet, the spotless curtains. 

^Tt puzzles me ! it puzzles me V’ cried Miss 
Lucy aloud to herself, as she held the paper 
to her nose and inhaled a peculiar perfume 
which lingered about it, as though it had 
been contained in some box of sandal-wood or 
other aromatic substance. This perfume had 
struck her at first when Marjorie’s mother 
had handed her the letter. Her first feeling 
then had been that this slight, almost imper- 
ceptible scent, delicate yet subtly strong, had 
something to do with the East. And the idea 
had been vaguely alarming. But she had 
put it aside with the exclamation: 

^^What if it has an Oriental sort of smell, 
when half Hew York winters at Algiers, or 
penetrates the heart of India?” 

How, as she inhaled this perfume, it began 
all at once to grow familiar and to bring back 


72 


Cousin Lucy Gets a Clue, 


scenes and places and people from the past. 
But she shook off the dreaminess which came 
over her with those memories and set herself 
once more seriously to examine each partic- 
ular syllable of that singular letter. There 
was one particular word which she examined 
for the hundredth time. When she had done 
so she cried out : 

‘T have a clue at last — ^the turn of that 
letter and the perfume.” 

But the exultation which she had felt sud- 
denly deserted her. Her face grew very pale 
and she leaned back against the cushions, her 
lips movinec in a strange, wordless way. 

^^Oh, that that should be the clue!” she 
murmured; ^Hhat, thatl” 

Bridget’s knock at the door an hour later 
remaining unanswered, that worthy domes- 
tic turned the handle. The door was locked. 
Such a thing had never happened in her 
memory. Never had Miss Lucy locked her 
out. Night and day the room was free to her. 
She retired in some wrath to the kitchen, 
whence she did not emerge until her mis- 
tress’ bell rang sharply. Then she found her 
sitting at table, with an absent, far-away 
look upon her face; such an expression, in- 


Cousin Lucy Gets a Clue. 


73 


deed, as Bridget had never seen there. And 
she spoke only these brief words : 

^^Bring me my tea at once. I must go back 
to my cousin’s.^^ 

think the same cousins have bewitched 
her/^ thought Bridget to herself, as she went 
in quest of the tea. ^^She’s a changed woman 
of late, but to-day beats all.'’^ 

Meantime, Lucy awaited the tea, her head 
resting upon her hands and her thoughts cen- 
tering about the clue, as Marjorie’s had done 
about the doorway. Even when she got out 
on the street she walked away from the 
house almost mechanically, still thinking, 
thinking. 

^^She looks as if she had seen a ghost,” 
said Bridget to herself, staring after her mis- 
tress, full of blended curiosity and concern. 
She had learned nothing from Miss Lucy 
that day upon any subject. Having inquired 
if there was any news of Marjorie, her mis- 
tress had replied : 

^TTes, no; I don’t know.” 

Miss Lucy had very early that afternoon 
made up her mind that, after all, she would 
withhold that letter from the police for a 
time, at least. If, after an interval, no fur- 


74 


Cousin Lucy Gets a Clue. 


ther tidings reached them of the child, it 
might, indeed, be necessary to make use of it. 
Since, however, she had discovered the 
clue, she became suddenly fearful that 
by some chance the police might hear of the 
letter. She was most anxious that they 
should interfere no farther in any way. 

/^We must wait,’^ she said; ‘Ve must wait, 
and oh, God grant that this may not be a 
punishment,” 


CHAPTER X. 

WHAT MARJOKIE FOUND IN THE HOUSE. 

Marjorie having blessed herself, as was 
her wont in beginning any enterprise, passed 
into the circular hall in which she found her- 
self as soon as the door closed upon her. 
Upon this hall several doors opened, and in 
the centre of it was a winding staircase which 
led upwards to a species of gallery, upon 
which many more rooms opened. 

The floor of this hall was of tesselated 
marble, and, like the stones outside, of many 
colors blended together in a pattern which 
the little girl fancied contained some strange 
meaning. The light from the painted win- 
dows shone down upon her, too, in a variety 
of colors. These many-hued windows seemed 
to occupy this silent house, to glint in and 
out on the dark wainscoting with a peculiar, 
solemn beauty. The door of one room only 
stood open, and into that Marjorie walked. 

75 


76 What Marjorie Found in the House. 

It was apparently a dining-room, with a great 
glass-fronted cupboard, showing many varie- 
ties of china. There was a wide hearth with 
a pair of dogs upon it, in the form of drag- 
ons. The painted windows were faintly 
screened by hanging curtains of yellow silk. 
To Marjorie’s surprise, the table was set as if 
for breakfast. She supposed it had either 
been left in that state since some one had 
breakfasted, or that that some one was still 
expected. As she drew near she perceived that 
the coffee-pot was hot and the beverage with- 
in it steaming. So were the rolls in the 
embroidered napkin. Under the massive 
silver cover, which Marjorie ventured to 
raise, she saw no fairy food at all, but only 
eggs and bacon. Oh, how hungry all this 
made poor Marjorie feel! It was many hours 
since she had tasted food, and here was every- 
thing so temptingly prepared. 

Still, she felt a great delicacy in eating any 
of this breakfast, which was evidently await- 
ing some one, who might appear at any mo- 
ment. She would go upstairs and look, and 
if she could not find any person, then cer- 
tainly she must eat. She could not starve, 
and surely the owner of all these grand 


What Marjorie Found in the House. 


77 


things would not grudge a hungry little girl 
some breakfast. 

She went towards the door, hut as she did 
so it closed softly and noiselessly as the other 
door had done, and no effort of hers could 
open it. She was shut in with that appetiz- 
ing breakfast. Despite the feeling almost of 
awe which came over her, she presently did 
what most hungry people would do ; she sat 
down and ate heartily. Oh, how good every- 
thing tasted! And it certainly was not en- 
chanted, hut very real, food. 

She had scarcely finished, when the door 
opened as softly as it had closed, and she was 
at liberty. This gave her a strange feeling, 
as though some invisible being were near 
and as if that being, whoever it might be, 
was providing for her comfort. She finally 
mustered up courage to go out into the hall 
and begin a search for that presiding genius. 
It could not be anything of evil, for it had 
so far done her only good. She would ask 
for some way by which to leave this enchant- 
ed abode, for the thought of her mother’s 
alarm and distress was constantly in her 
mind. The tour of the house did not, how- 
ever, proceed so quickly as she had expected. 


78 What Marjo 7 'ie Found in the House. 


She got as far as the next room and was 
gazing around in admiration, when the door 
again closed upon her and she was left to 
examine its beauties in detail. There was a 
profusion of hooks, delightful books, some 
of them with beautiful pictures, some with- 
out. Oh, if Dick, who was so fond of books, 
could only be here! There were boxes of 
quaintly carved figures representing people 
of all nations and of all conditions, soldiers, 
cavaliers, sailors, peasants, ladies, and shep- 
herdesses. Marjorie amused herself for a 
considerable time in arranging them in 
groups. 

There was a piano in the corner, but Mar- 
jorie could not make up her mind to touch 
it. There were a variety of games, some of 
which could be played alone. In fact, there 
was so much to amuse and interest a child 
that Marjorie almost forgot her desire to get 
home, and spent a very pleasant morning go- 
ing from one delightful object to another. 
By the time she had almost exhausted the 
treasures of the room the door suddenly 
opened, and again she was free to wander 
into the hall. 

When the forenoon had thus passed away 


What Marjoi'iG Found in the House. 


79 


Marjorie heard the tinkle of a tiny hell. She 
followed the sound; surely, now she would 
find some one. But no; all the doors save 
the dining-room were shut, and as she went 
mechanically in she found that the break- 
fast had been cleared away and a luncheon 
set out, of the choicest viands. Evidently, 
she was not to die for want of food, and she 
saw now that these things were specially pre- 
pared for her. 

After luncheon she found another door 
open, and, straying in, found herself in 
a great, stately drawing-room. She had never 
been in such a place in her life, and she felt 
almost afraid to stir there. Her feet sank 
in the carpet, as they had in the smooth 
grass without. She climbed into one of the 
great brocade-covered arm-chairs and stared 
about her. 

Can any child imagine all that she saw? 
Eich and costly ornaments, curtains and 
draperies of Oriental richness, vases, screens, 
tables of rare woods, chairs of priceless carv- 
ing, pictures and statues, which were worth 
more money than little Marjorie could count. 

After a time she grew nervously afraid of 
the cavaliers and ladies in the painted win- 


8o What Marjorie Found in the House. 


dows which occupied one side of the long 
room. They seemed to peep out from the 
draperies of silk which half obscured them, 
and to smile mockingly at the child, especial- 
ly when the afternoon sun began to sink 
somewhat, till on a level with the windows it 
east weird lights through them into the 
room. A crimson glow from one of them 
fell upon the tapestried wall of pink brocade 
opposite, precisely like a blood stain. An 
unaccountable terror seized upon Marjorie. 
Surely, that cavalier bowing with his plumed 
hat in hand was pointing to that, with 
a malicious smile at her. The company of 
painted people, indeed, from their station 
in the windows seemed to say to Marjorie 
with one voice: 

^^We were once living beings like you, and 
see what we have become. You will absorb 
so much of the light and beauty of this house 
that you will grow to be like us, a painted 
figure.^^ 

This was a queer fancy, but Marjorie was 
dozing asleep and dreaming, so that she 
thought she heard their voices very distinctly. 
She awoke with a start. The figures had dis- 
appeared in the darkness which had stolen 


What Marjorie Found in the House. 


8i 


on while she slept. So figures familiar in 
the morning of life grow dim and vanish as 
the evening of age draws near. 

Marjorie thought then that even those 
light, mocking faces would have been a re- 
lief in the terrible dimness and loneliness 
which enshrouded her. An agonizing feel- 
ing came over her that she was in prison and 
that she would he obliged to remain in this 
beautiful, fascinating place forever. 

^‘It is a punishment,” she said. did not 
mean to be wicked. But perhaps it was, to 
leave home without telling my mother.” 

The darkness weighed upon her, too, and 
terrified her. Her conscience smote her sore- 
ly. The thought of everything wrong she 
had ever done came into her mind vividly. 
Fortunately, her wrong-doing had been tri- 
fling. Ever since her First Communion 
two years before she had received the Blessed 
Sacrament frequently, and this thought gave 
her comfort now. She had lived as Catholic 
children mostly do, in the shadow of the 
faith, warmed, illumined, protected from 
evil. But such as her wrong-doing had been, 
she recalled it now, as people do, it is said, 
at the hour of death, and the tears began to 


82 What Marjorie Found in the House. 

flow down lier cheeks as she called aloud for 
her mother and Dick. 

She put her hand to her neck to feel for 
her medals and scapulars, with the badge of 
the Sacred Heart that she always wore. Oh, 
if this darkness were to last forever ; if, per- 
haps, she were closed into some great, gloomy 
place where she would have to remain. At 
that instant the light from a thousand jets 
flashed upon her. She rose hastily, in won- 
der at the brilliancy. It seemed to proceed 
from every part of the wall. It threw every- 
thing into bold relief, except the painted fig- 
ures, which seemed to have retired farther 
and farther into the darkness. So it is with 
life. No later glory brings back the splen- 
dors of the morning. 

By this new light Marjorie set herself, 
with reviving courage, to examine all the 
wonderful things which the room contained. 
To most of them Marjorie could have given 
no name. She had never seen anything like 
them. All at once a tiny clock near her 
chimed out the hour. It made her start, as if 
a human voice had spoken in the hall out- 
side. It was the great clock which stood 
there tolling the hour with musical chimes. 


What Marjorie Found in the House. 83 

And Marjorie was sure that she really did 
hear a voice. She went into the hall, hut 
it was only a quaint figure of Time, which 
came out from the clock and counted the 
hour, crying: ‘Tarewell, lost hour.” 

Marjorie watched this figure till it had dis- 
appeared; then she turned towards the door 
whence she had come. It was closed, and 
only the dining-room door stood open. She 
understood now that this opening and shut- 
ting of doors was a way of directing her 
movements. But how was it done, and who 
did it? Had ever a child been met with a 
puzzle like this before? She went, however, 
into the dining-room. There was another of 
those delicious meals set out upon the table. 
Many things were there which Marjorie had 
never tasted before, but she enjoyed every- 
thing with the appetite of a healthy child. 
Oh, if her mother and Dick could have been 
there, too ! 

When this evening meal was over Marjorie 
felt more solitary than ever. Here was an- 
other night, and she was no nearer solving 
the mystery nor getting home. She went out 
into the hall again, and finding every door 
closed, she sat down upon the spiral stairs; 


84 What Marjorie Found in the House. 

and after a time it occurred to her that she 
would go up. This seemed rather a venture- 
some thing to do, hut she must go in some- 
where and she might find out something up 
there. She began to feel very drowsy, too, 
as she usually went to bed early, and she 
•thought that after she had been upstairs she 
would throw herself down upon one of these 
heavy rugs and go to sleep. 

But when she reached the top of the stairs 
there was a single door open, from which a 
light was shining. Marjorie crossed the 
threshold; she found herself in a dainty little 
bedroom. The bed, prettily canopied with 
blue silk, had been freshly made up with 
snow-white linen. Everything showed prep- 
aration as for a guest. Even a ruffled gown 
of cambric, just Marjorie’s size, was placed 
upon the bed. 

Marjorie said her prayers very fervently, 
indeed, and then lay down in the little bed, 
which smelled of sweet lavender. Her first 
day on the other side of that mysterious 
doorway through which she had so long de- 
sired to pass was a wonderful one, and the lit- 
tle girl had many things of which to think. 
But her mind wandered most of all to her 


What Marjorie Found in the House. 85 


home, where everything was so humble, hut 
where were her mother and Dick. So that 
her cheeks were stained with tears as she 
fell asleep, which shows that riches are not 
everything in this world, but that home and 
love are much more. Also, that doing ex- 
actly what one pleases and having every- 
thing one wants do not constitute happiness. 
Many a little girl, as well as Marjorie, has 
learned this lesson, only sometimes they have 
grown quite big before they know it thor- 
oughly. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

DICK KEMEMBEKS. 

When Miss Lucy returned that evening 
to her cousin’s she was in a high state of ex- 
citement, which, however, she carefully sup- 
pressed. She had not quite made up her 
mind whether or no she would tell Marjo- 
rie’s mother what she had discovered. She 
found her in Dick’s room, so for the moment, 
at least, there was nothing to be said. Dick 
was growing stronger, hut there was quite 
sufficient pallor and weakness about him yet 
to necessitate caution. He was talking quite 
gayly to his mother, and took some of the 
fruit which Miss Lucy had brought home 
with her. He was laughing, too, in a bright, 
natural manner, which neither Miss Lucy 
nor his mother had heard since his illness. 

The brightness of his look and tone, too, 
seemed reflected in the mother, who ever 
86 


Dick Remembers. 


87 


since the receipt of the mysterious letter had 
visibly improved. 

All at once there was a change in the hoy. 
It was as though a cloud had passed over his 
sensitive face. His near-sighted eyes peered 
at his mother as he said, in a strange, unnat- 
ural voice: 

“Mother, why does Marjorie never come 
to see me? Where is she?’’ 

His mother was too much astonished to 
answer at once. After a pause Miss Lucy said : 

“You have been too ill to see almost any 
one.” 

“But now,” he said, turning the same anx- 
ious gaze on Miss Lucy, “I am better. She 
should surely come now.” 

Miss Lucy, composing her countenance, 
answered in as indifferent a tone as she 
could : 

“Presently, she will come.” 

“When?” asked the boy. “To-day?” 

Miss Lucy shook her head. 

“To-morrow?” 

“Ho.” 

“Mother,” said the boy, ‘^when will Marjo- 
rie come? I am lonesome for her.” 

The boy’s voice was so petulant, his face 


88 


Dick Remembers. 


and maynner began to show such symptoms of 
excitement, that Miss Lucy hastily inter- 
posed : 

^^Hurry and get strong, and then — ’’ 

But Dick’s eyes were fixed upon his moth- 
er’s face, down which two large tears were 
making their way. ‘^Mother,” said Dick, 
speaking this time vrith curious calmness, 
^‘1 remember it all now. Marjorie is not here. 
I don’t think she will ever come. She went 
through the doorway.” 

^^Now he is raving again,” said Miss Lucy . 

^^And isn’t it strange he should go back to 
the idea of a doorway? Lie still, there’s a 
dear boy,” said his mother, soothingly; she, 
too, thought his mind was wandering, and 
was alarmed at the idea of a relapse. 

^^But I am not raving,” said Dick. “I am 
sure she went through the doorway. I re- 
member it all well.” 

^^What doorway?” asked Miss Lucy, who 
for the first time began to think that the 
boy really knew something which might help 
in the discovery of the missing child. 

^^It’s a gray door between two big brick 
houses trimmed with white,” said the boy. 
^‘We always wondered what was inside, but 


Dick Remembers. 


89 


we never saw it open until one day. Then 
Marjorie said she would go in. I was afraid, 
but I didn’t want to let her go alone. So we 
both went up to the door, but as soon as we 
tried to push it open it closed on us. I was 
glad, hut Marjorie said she would come hack 
every day till she found it open again, and 
would go in.” 

The mother and Miss Lucy listened with 
strained, eager eyes to this recital. It was 
clearly no raving, hut a coherent story. Miss 
Lucy, with the former clue in her mind, 
caught at it eagerly. 

think Marjorie went hack herself,” said 
Dick. ^^She didn’t take me because, per- 
haps, she thought it was better not, in case 
anything happened. She thought there 
might be money there to help mother.” 

‘Toor little soul !” said her mother. ^^But, 
oh, Dick, if she had only told me !” 

^^Where is this doorway?” asked Miss 
Lucy. ^^Could I find it?” 

Dick shook his head. 

“Not unless you knew just where it was.” 

He tried to explain, hut Miss Lucy could 
not follow, and both the mother and she saw 
that Dick was growing tired. 


90 


Dick Remembers. 


^^Don’t talk any more,” the mother said, 
‘‘but hurry and get well, and then you will 
take us to the place. And, dear, I got a let- 
ter saying that Marjorie is safe and well.” 

A wonderful expression came over Dick^s 
face. 

“Then it wasn’t bad there, after all!” he 
exclaimed. “Perhaps Marjorie found money!” 

But it was the thought that Marjorie was 
safe and well which seemed to afford the boy 
great consolation, and a contented look crept 
into his eyes and he presently fell asleep. 

The two women continued to converse to- 
gether in whispers, as the twilight deepened, 
its hush broken by the steaming of the kettle 
below, and Dick’s regular breathing near 
them. 

“Did you give that letter to the police?” 
asked Marjorie’s mother. 

“Oh, no !” cried Miss Lucy, with nervous 
haste, as though she would not entertain the 
suggestion for a moment. “I thought — I 
thought it was better not.” 

“So you agree with me, Lucy,” said the 
mother, quietly. “I am glad, very glad, that 
you have so decided. But have you any 
special reason for changing your mind?” 


Dick Remembers, 


91 


^^Yes,” said Miss Lucy, hesitating. Then 
she added, after a considerable pause: ‘Tt 
might, after all, be prejudicial to Marjorie, 
and probably the police wouldnT learn much 
by it, and — ” 

She stopped, but the gathering darkness 
prevented her cousin from seeing the trou- 
bled look that came into Lucy’s eyes, and 
the color that rose to her cheeks. Still, it 
seemed to the listener that there was some- 
thing unusual in Lucy’s voice and manner. 
She bent forward, and, laying her hand upon 
her cousin’s arm, said deliberately: 

^^Lucy, you are keeping something from 
me. You know more than I do. It is the 
life of my child that is at stake, therefore, 
you should tell me.” 

^^What can I tell you?” said Lucy, growing 
pale. ‘^The letter has said all and more than 
I could say.” 

^^And yet you know or you fear some- 
thing,” persisted Marjorie’s mother, who or- 
dinarily the gentlest, least persistent of 
women, was aroused now into a kind of fierce 
inquisitiveness. ^^And, Lucy, I beg of you, 
for God’s sake, to tell me.” 

"Dear,” said Lucy, trying to speak firmly. 


92 


Dick Remembers. 


Icnow nothing. I have guessed a good 
deal, but whether it will help us to find Mar- 
jorie I cannot tell. All I, can say is that I 
have a clue.^^ 

^^And you will not tell me what it is?^^ 
asked Marjorie’s mother, sadly. 

what use would it be?” argued Miss 
Lucy. the clue can be used, I will use it; 
if not, better not break a long silence, better 
leave in secrecy what has been so long unre- 
vealed.” 

^^You are talking riddles,” said the mother, 
almost angrily; ^^but remember, you are play- 
ing with a heart that has been nearly broken. 
And hearts are bad playthings.” 

Lucy started as if she had been struck. 

^^Give me time,” she said in a low voice. 
^^Not to-night, but some other time, I will 
tell you everything.” 

And so afraid was Miss Lucy of being 
questioned farther that when supper was 
over she put on her things and went home 
to the long-suffering Bridget. 

Bridget received her with great evident 
satisfaction, insisted on bringing her a warm 
cup of tea, with a slice of toast, and having 
thus , attended to her comfort and expressed 


Dick Remembers. 


93 


her good-will in a dozen little ways, she did 
Miss Lucy the greatest service of all by re- 
turning to the kitchen and leaving her mis- 
tress alone with her thoughts. They were 
the best company just then, Miss Lucy 
quaintly reflected, for they did not ask ques- 
tions, nor strive to penetrate mysteries, nor 
utter themselves aloud. Nor did they ask 
for light, content to sit in darkness, illu- 
mined only by the electric light on the street 
without and the cold glitter of the stars, to 
which thought and speech are alike indiffer- 
ent. Miss Lucy’s thoudits had to travel fast 
and far that night, over time and space and 
through labyrinths indescribable. And she 
sat with them far on into the night, bring- 
ing them at last to the gray doorway between 
two white-trimmed brick houses, where they 
lingered with curious fascination. 


CHAPTER XII. 

“the pketty child.''" 

Apart from her longing for her mother 
and Dick, Marjorie might have grown weary 
of her solitude, but that each hour of the 
day there was something to amuse and inter- 
est her. She was reassured as to her mother 
by the contents of a dainty note which she 
found one day upon the breakfast table. It 
read as follows: 

“To THE Bird in the Golden Cage."" 

“Your mother knows that you are well 
and happy. Have no anxiety about her. 
You shall see her in good time."" 

Marjorie was surprised and a little fright- 
ened to receive this direct communication 
from the unknown being, who, having closed 
the doors of the cage upon her, sought to 
make Jier imprisonment as pleasant as possi- 
ble. Of course, it was a great relief to the 
little girl to know that her mother was no 
94 


“27ie Pretty Child, 


95 


longer anxious about her, and that she should 
see her soon. So, from that time forth, she 
began to enjoy her novel situation mhch 
more. Sometimes pretty frocks or hats were 
placed in her room, or shoes that Cinderella 
herself might have coveted; so that Mar- 
jorie had laid aside the gingham frock and 
hat of coarse straw. She did not confine her- 
self to the house. The door by which she 
had first entered stood open all day long, and 
she could go out and play in the long grass 
or pick flowers, which grew in wonderful 
profusion in the garden near by. This gar- 
den contained a great variety of flowers, 
many of which were strange to Marjorie, and 
it was full of sweet scents, which mingled 
with the fragrance of various fruit trees, 
from which Marjorie freely picked whatso- 
ever kind she preferred. 

Marjorie discovered one morning a little 
dog, who came up to her wagging his tail in 
a friendly wa}^, as if inviting her to a game of 
romps. After that he was out every morn- 
ing, and played with her merrily as long as 
she was out of doors. He always disappeared 
when she entered the house, and she could 
never find out where he went. 


96 


The Pretty ChildP 


At first she regarded him as an enchanted 
dog, but he seemed in no way difierent from 
any others of his race, and attached himself 
to the little girl, as though he were glad to 
have a companion. He performed many 
pretty tricks, which Marjorie discovered by 
degrees, sitting upright to beg for food and 
jumping over sticks held out to him or 
through a hoop. Marjorie also amused her- 
self playing with the gold and silver fish in 
the fountain. She liked to watch them dart- 
ing about in the clear water. Sometimes she 
brought out crumbs to throw to them, or 
poked at them with a stick to make them 
move the faster. 

But that which interested Marjorie most 
of all was a discovery which she made after 
she had been some days in this abode of won- 
ders. Almost every day she wandered into 
some new part of the house, but on a certain 
afternoon, feeling somewhat aimless, she 
went upstairs, and walking about the circu- 
lar gallery, she suddenly perceived a room 
in which she never had been before. It was 
so fairy-like in its appointments that Mar- 
jorie held her breath. Surely, this must be 
a part of that enchanted region which in the 


*^The Pretty Child.” 


97 


days of her infancy she had often pictured to 
herself. It must he fairyland. She could see 
at first only a mass of pink and silver, with 
pretty lace curtains and coverlet, with soft 
velvet carpet of the palest shade, and exqui- 
site chairs, cushioned in pink and silver. The 
hed, raised upon a dais, was shaded hy cur- 
tains of pale pink with silver fringes, falling 
from a canopy. Over the mantel was the 
picture of a child, so heautiful that Marjorie 
exclaimed aloud: 

"Oh, what a pretty child !” 

The blue eyes, with their tender, dreamy 
expression, seemed to look into hers, while 
the hand, extended with one of those pretty, 
unconscious gestures of childhood, seemed 
asking for her friendship. Marjorie stood 
rooted to the spot in admiration; the gleam 
of that golden hair seemed to fascinate her 
more than all the beauties of the room. But 
she presently became accustomed to it and 
felt a sense of companionship in the portrait, 
almost as if it had been a real child. After 
that Marjorie never missed a day in making 
her way to see "the pretty child.’^ 

After the first day there was always some 
gift for Marjorie laid on the table in front 


98 


^^The Pretty Child.^ 


of the picture, and always accompanied by 
a dainty slip of paper mth the words writ- 
ten upon it in a bold, legible hand : 

^Trom the Pretty Child.” 

Sometimes these things were of value and 
Marjorie hesitated about touching them, un- 
til the command was given peremptorily: 

“The pretty child bids you take what is 
offered.” 

On other occasions it was simply some pret- 
ty trifle, which pleased Marjorie quite as well. 
Once it was a box of curious workmanship, 
which, being opened, contained chocolates. 
x\gain, it was a purse, formed of flne filigree, 
in which were some pieces of gold. A work- 
basket lined with satin, and furnished with 
every appliance for work, was followed by a 
box of drawing and painting materials. In 
fact, it would take too long to tell all the 
pretty things which were thus given to Mar- 
jorie. 

But she loved even better than these gifts 
to see the pretty child herself, and talk to 
her as if she had been real. She got into the 
habit, indeed, of talking out loud, and told 
the pretty child of all the wonders she had 


*^The Pretty Child.'' ^ 


99 


seen, the plays she had played, and the 
thoughts which had passed through her 
mind. One afternoon in particular she told 
her how lonely she was for Dick and her 
mother. On her next visit she found with 
her gift for that day, a necklace of carved 
beads, the words : 

^‘You will see those you are wishing to see 
before very long.” 

One day Marjorie raised the heavy pink 
curtains which fell over what she believed 
to he a cupboard, in a far corner of the room. 
She saw there two heavily carved doors, 
which seemed to be of ebony. Something in 
their appearance fascinated her, held her en- 
tranced. Dragons were curiously twisted and 
mingled, till they seemed almost living and 
invested with a certain malignity. This was 
a new subject of interest to Marjorie, who 
stood before them with something of the 
same feeling she had had in standing out- 
side the gray doorway between the brick 
houses. She questioned the little girl upon 
these weird doors, but no answer came from 
the sweet blue eyes nor the smiling lips. 
Next day, however, Marjorie found a paper 
upon which was written: 


Lore. 


100 


“27ie Pretty Child P 


^^All life is a mystery. We but explore 
one, when another meets us, to prepare us 
for the great mystery beyond.” 

Marjorie did not understand this very well, 
but she thought it had something to do with 
the door, and she told the little girl so. That 
evening, indeed, she was in a particularly in- 
quisitive mood, and she asked many ques- 
tions of the portrait. But she finished by 
Cluing out to it : 

^‘Oh, pretty child, why won’t you come 
out of your frame and play with me? I 
would like ever so much to hear you speak 1” 

Was it fancy, or did the smile on the lips 
deepen, and was not that a breath, a real 
human breathing, which Marjorie heard 
near? She must have been full of fancies 
that evening, for as she turned hastily she 
thought that the pink curtains had been 
parted and that they fell as she looked with 
a slight, rustling sound. After a moment’s 
hesitation she approached them, but they 
were still again, and the ebony doors were as 
immovably closed as ever. 

Every day Marjorie’s interest seemed to 
grow in that mysterious room, and yet in all 
the house it was only there that she felt 


*^The Pretty Child.*' 


lOI 


nervous at times, and was filled with peculiar 
fancies. She never imagined that she saw or 
heard anything in any other part of the 
dwelling. In fact, she almost wished some- 
times that there was some sound. But here 
it was different. She always had a feeling 
that something was there. Once, as she con- 
versed with her little friend of the picture, it 
seemed to her that she saw a hand parting 
the pink curtains. On another occasion she 
turned round suddenly, with the feeling that 
something was behind her, and fancied that 
she saw two human eyes. Marjorie that time 
remained quite motionless in her fright. The 
eyes seemed to transfix her, but when she 
turned her own away for a moment the oth- 
ers had disappeared. She could not at first 
find courage to shake the curtains, but when 
she did so there was nothing behind them, 
and the dragons seemed to glare at her till 
she was glad to turn away. 

^^Why do I have so many fancies in this 
room?’^ asked Marjorie of the little girl, ^^and 
I don’t have any in any other part of the 
house 

The answer was waiting for her on her 
next visit: 


102 


Pretty Child.** 


^^Because this room has a soul/’ 

^'How could a room have a soul?” Marjorie 
thought to herself, laughing a little at the 
notion. But, after all, it was rather fright- 
ful, too. Souls were spirits, and perhaps that 
was the meaning of those strange words. 
After that she always left that room and 
said good-hy to the pretty child before dark. 
She did not want to see those two gleaming 
eyes again, and she was somewhat afraid of 
the dragons. 


CHAPTEE XIII. 

MAEJORIE SEES SOME ONE. 

One forenoon, when Marjorie entered the 
pretty child's room, as she called it, she saw 
what seemed to he a chink of light coming 
through the pink curtains. She approached 
cautiously, and perceived that the ebony 
door was open. The largest of the dragons 
was parted, as it were, in two, and one eye 
seemed to regard Marjorie, as she fancied, 
with a malevolent expression. 

She could not at first make up her mind 
to draw near. She stood irresolute, looking 
from the smiling face of the child, which in- 
spired her with hope and confidence, to the 
menacing grimness of the dragon, which 
held her back. She blessed herself and said 
a short prayer, as she always did on any im- 
portant occasion. Then she approached 
with beating heart, and, looking through the 
103 


104 


Marjorie Sees Some One. 


opening, saw a room which in its perfect 
plainness was a contrast to all that she had 
yet seen. It was like the cell of a hermit, 
and rendered more so by a great carven cruci- 
fix and a picture of the Madonna. As Mar- 
jorie peered and peered she became conscious 
that some one was regarding her with fixed 
attention, and that the two eyes of her fancy 
were there in reality. 

But she soon saw that the eyes were set 
in the face of a remarkably handsome man. 
They were of a deep gray, and marked by a 
great sadness which it was beyond a child^s 
power to comprehend. 

^^And so,” said a voice, which even to one 
of Marjorie’s limited experience seemed pe- 
culiarly pleasing, ^^you are face to face with 
still another mystery. This time, however, 
it is a speaking one.” 

Marjorie was seized with great shyness in 
this new presence, hut the stranger, opening 
wide the ebony doors, hade her enter and he 
seated. 

"For the time has come,” he said, "when 
I have much to say to you.” 

Marjorie sat down and stared at the gen- 
tleman, who had turned towards the window. 


Marjorie Secs Some One. 


105 


and for a time seemed unconscious of her 
presence. But such was not the case, for 
the sight of the childish figure sitting so qui- 
etly there filled him with a great emotion. 
Marjorie felt no fear. The peaceful face of 
the Madonna and the familiar, sorrowful fig- 
ure of the Crucified would have reassured her 
if she did. They were lighted by the win- 
dows, exquisitely painted as below and un- 
shadowed by any curtains. A glow falling 
through them rested on the sacred symbols, 
as on the laughing faces of the cavaliers and 
ladies in the drawing-room. 

At last the stranger sat down directly fac- 
ing Marjorie and looked at her fixedly. 

^^The time has come,^^ he said, ‘Vhen I 
have much to say to you, and I shall begin by 
telling you that long before you were per- 
mitted to pass through the doorway I was 
aware of your desire to do so. I knew of 
your visits and your brother’s to its neigh- 
borhood, and at first I believe I rather re- 
sented your curiosity. In permitting you to 
enter at last I foresaw that that curiosity 
would be sufficiently punished by the event, 
but I was also actuated by other motives, 
which shall be presently explained. 


io6 Marjorie Sees Some One. 

^^When you, with your brother, found the 
door open the first time, I closed it absolutely 
upon him. Had he not mounted the steps 
beside you that first venture of yours would 
have succeeded.” 

He paused, resting his head upon his hand 
so that a ray from the window fell upon him, 
showing the gray in his brown hair and the 
lines of care in his face. 

‘^How, I was willing to punish your 
curiosity by that one night of terror, during 
which, I believe, I suft'ered almost as much 
as you. By permitting you to find mys- 
tery after mystery, I was actuated by 
none but kindly feelings towards you. I 
desired that your experience here should be 
a pleasant one, for the sake of that other lit- 
tle girl whose picture hangs above the man- 
telpiece. But I wanted to try you.” 

^Hs — is the little girl here?” asked Mar- 
jorie, timidly. 

The stranger did not answer directly, but 
said instead, looking with a very kindly ex- 
pression into the earnest little face before 
him: 

^‘You would like to see her?” 

^^Oh, yes,” said Marjorie, ‘T would like 


Marjorie Sees Some One, 


107 


that best of all. We could play together in 
this beautiful place.” 

^^She is, I hope, in a more beautiful one,” 
©aid the stranger. ^^You will never see her on 
earth, little Marjorie.” 

The tears came into Marjorie’s eyes and 
rolled down her cheeks, partly because she 
was so disappointed, and partly because of 
the sadness in the stranger’s voice, which 
touched her very much. Those tears won 
his heart, if it had not been won already. 

am going to ask you something, Mar- 
jorie,” he said, in a voice which was almost 
caressing. ^^Would it cost you too much to 
live here and take the place of the little girl 
who is gone? All this was hers, and it shall 
be yours if you can be happy here.” 

For one brief moment the prospect seemed 
a dazzling one. Then Marjorie answered : 

^Tt is all beautiful, but I couldn’t stay, be- 
cause my mother needs me. We are rather 
poor, and she has to work very bard. I help 
her all I can. So does Dick.” 

The stranger, deeply touched, let his eyes 
rest upon the chubby hands of the quaint 
little maiden, as if wondering what work 
they could do. But he continued : 


io8 


Marjorie Sees Some One. 


might get some one to do the work 
for her/^ 

^‘Oh, but that wouldn’t be the same, and 
she would miss me. So would Dick. Dick is 
my brother, you know, and we always play 
together. We don’t know any other chil- 
dren. So you see I must go.” 

^‘Bravo, little Marjorie!” cried the stran- 
ger. ^‘1 want to keep you more than' ever 
now. But I see that they would, indeed, miss 
you at home. So T will take you there and 
we shall see what can be done.” 

While Marjorie was thanking the stran- 
ger, her face full of joy at the thought of go- 
ing home, she suddenly began to look in- 
tently at him. 

^^Why do you look at me so strangely, lit- 
tle one?” asked the gentleman, smiling. 

^^Because I saw you once before,” said 
Marjorie. 

^^You saw me? Was it in this house?” the 
stranger asked in surprise. 

Marjorie shook her head. 

mean I saw your picture, and the little 
girl’s was with it. When I looked at the pic- 
ture in the other room I couldn’t remember 
where I had seen the same face before.” 


Marjorie Sees Some One. 


log 


“But where was it?” asked the stranger, 
curiously. 

“At my Cousin Lucy^s,” answered Mar- 
jorie. 

“Where?” cried the gentleman, springing 
to his feet. 

Marjorie, alarmed by the movement and 
the tone of his voice, repeated rather faintly : 

“At my Cousin Luc/s.” 

“What is her other name?” cried the stran- 
ger. Marjorie told him. 

“My God, how wonderful are Thy ways !” 
said the man, with a single glance at the 
crucifix. “That was the likeness which I 
saw and which attracted me to this child. 
You are very like your cousin,” he continued, 
addressing Marjorie abruptly, in his effort to 
master his emotion. “So it was with her you 
saw my picture?” 

“Yes,” said Marjorie. “When I went into 
her room one evening she was sitting at her 
desk, and your picture was in front of her. 
But she had the picture of the little girl in 
her hands, and she was crying over it, so that 
it was all wet. I noticed that. I stood still, 
because I didn’t want to disturb her, but 
when she s>aw me she said: ^Don’t mind. 


no 


Marjorie Sees Some One. 


Marjorie. I am with the two people I love 
best in the world.'’ ’’ 

^^She said that?” cried the stranger, in 
great agitation. 

I^Iarjorie nodded. 

remember that evening very well, be- 
cause Cousin Lucy gave me a doll after- 
wards.” 

^^But — hut I thought, I was told, she had 
married.” 

^^Cousin Lucy isn’t married, I’m sure,” said 
Marjorie. “She just has Bridget.” 

“Well, well ! all that doesn’t matter now,” 
said the stranger, going back to his ordinary 
manner. “I am sorry you are not going to 
stay with me, but since go you will, I shall 
order the carriage and take you home. But 
you must have luncheon first, and I will join 
you at it in about an hour.” 

So Marjorie spent that hour in saying 
good-by to everything, especially to the lit- 
tle girl, and she could not help feeling sorry 
that she was leaving the beautiful place be- 
hind. Only it would be so nice to see her 
mother and Dick, and to tell them all about 
it. At luncheon the stranger talked very 
pleasantly to her, and she soon felt enough 


Marjorie Sees Some One. 


Ill 


at home with him to aslc him questions about 
things that still puzzled her. She found out that 
he lived in a wing of the house, which could 
be completely shut off, when he wished, from 
the rest. His old housekeeper, who had been 
the pretty child’s nurse, lived there, with 
several other servants. The mysterious open- 
ing and shutting of doors was done by means 
of electric wires, and he himself had often 
been near her when she could not see him, 
especially when she was in the pretty child’s 
room, which communicated with his own 
apartments. This and much more he told 
her, at which most children will guess, for 
they know best what questions they would 
like to ask in such a case. After luncheon 
was over Marjorie was told to collect all her 
things, the gifts which had been given her, 
while all the pretty frocks, hats and shoes 
were brought down and placed in the car- 
riage, which presently stood at the door. 

Marjorie was instructed to go into the gar- 
den and pick a great bunch of flowers for her 
mother, while a basket containing a quan- 
tity of fruit was already in the carriage. So 
nothing remained but to take her seat beside 
the stranger. Presently they • passed out 


II2 


Marjorie Sees Some One. 


through the great gates which Marjorie had 
once vainly tried to open, and were being 
whirled along in the direction of her home. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


COUSIN LUCY'S STOKY. 

It was some days before Miss Lucy kept 
her promise of telling Marjorie's mother of 
the clue which she had found, and with it 
the story of her past life. The two were sit- 
ting together in one of those early twilights 
which mark the close of summer. They were 
in the dining-room, which also served as a 
parlor, and the glow of the kitchen fire shone 
in pleasantly. After a long pause, during 
which Miss Lucy's face was thoughtful, even 
serious, she began her recital as follows: 

^‘You know how spoiled I was as a girl. 
Being an only child, and my mother dying 
young, I was idolized by my father, who de- 
nied me nothing. All that you remember, 
and I need not dwell upon it. When I was 
just twenty years of age I met some one who 
exercised a marked influence over my life. 
Probably you have never heard the story, for 


Cousin Lucy’s Story. 


1 14 

you were away from New York at the time; 
nor after the lapse of years would it be worth 
the telling now^, except in so far as it concerns 
the present matter. Within one month after 
our first meeting I was engaged to Bronson 
Holmes. He was handsome and clever, with 
a dash of eccentricity and Bohemianism in 
his character. He was also extremely 
wealthy. Multi-millionaires were not so 
plentiful in those days in New York, and his 
wealth was considered fabulous. 

"He was, however, a somewhat indifferent 
Catholic, which caused my father to look 
somewhat coldly upon him. But I hoped, 
with the careless, if enthusiastic, faith of 
girlhood, to convert him easily. He was a 
widower with one child, to whom he was de- 
voted in the same manner as my father was 
devoted to me. She was as sweet and pretty 
as a fairy, an exquisite little being; of whom 
I soon became inordinately jealous. For, 
though I was fond of the child myself, I saw 
that she occupied a very large place in her 
father’s heart.” 

Here Miss Lucy stopped, and her cousin, who 
was sympathetically regarding her, observed 
that the troubled look deepened in her eyes. 


Cousin Lucy's Story. 115 

which were fixed upon the crimson line of 
light coming in from the kitchen fire. 

‘‘We had a quarrel because of her, in which 
I was altogether wrong. To show my power 
over Bronson I suggested that he send his 
Elsie away to a convent school. I shall never 
forget the look of almost fierce resentment 
which darkened his face as I spoke. But his 
answer was an absolute refusal. 

“Elsie was delicate, he said, and required 
all the care and comfort of home to keep her 
alive. Moreover, he added, it augured 
very ill for Elsie’s happiness, or even for his 
own, if I so early began to desire her ab- 
sence. I replied with great warmth, and the 
substance of what I said was that neither 
Elsie’s happiness nor his would ever he en- 
dangered by me. I handed him hack my 
engagement ring as I spoke, and with an ob- 
stinate pride I held to that resolve, despite 
every effort on his part to make me recon- 
sider. Indeed, it was only after the breach 
between us that I fully understood how de- 
votedly he loved me, and that the same in- 
tensity of nature which made him cling to 
Elsie also displayed itself in his attachment 
to me. Still, I would not yield. He tried 


Cousin Lucy’s Story. 


ri6 

everything which tact and patience could de- 
vise to make me change my mind, but in 
vain.” 

^^Oh, Lucy!” cried her cousin. “Knowing 
you as I do now, it seems incredible that you 
could ever have acted in such a manner.” 

“Youth is always foolish, and prodigal of 
its blessings,” said Lucy, calmly. “But one 
thing I can thank God for, that Bronson did 
not yield as regarded Elsie. Had he yielded 
I should have been full of remorse to this 
hour, for she died four years from that day. 
I grieved for her sincerely, and realized then 
how dear she had become to me. But it was 
too late. Her charming presence had passed 
forever out of my life, and with it, apparent- 
ly, the last trace of affection on the part of 
my once devoted lover.” 

“And you regretted, of course?” said Mar- 
jorie’s mother. 

“Not altogether,” answered Lucy, quietly. 
“Had I, with my undisciplined character, 
married him then the years during which 
Elsie lived would have been, I fear, a time 
of constant strife, and perhaps have caused 
our lifelong unhappiness. So, perhaps 
things were arranged for the best. Provi* 


Cousin Lucxfs Story. 


117 


dence takes care of such matters. But, talk- 
ing of my grief for the child, I remember 
once how your poor little Marjorie found me 
crying bitterly over a child^s picture. I 
think that up to that time Marjorie had sup- 
posed big people never cried — ^you are 
so patient, dear, she probably never saw you 
in tears. She looked at me very curiously, 
and I told her I was crying for the death of 
a child whom I had very much loved.’^ 

^^How hard it all was,^^ said Marjorie’s 
mother, as her cousin resumed. 

^^But I have been keeping you in suspense 
all this time, and I am sure you are wonder- 
ing what this has to do with Marjorie’s loss. 
My dear, in reading that remarkable letter 
which you got the other night a strange sus- 
picion seized me, and as I pondered over it 
in the silence of my room I found a clue in 
the form of one or two letters of the hand- 
writing and in the perfume of a sandal-wood 
box, in which Bronson used to keep his sta- 
tionery. I had not seen that handwriting for 
many a long year, but the peculiar formation 
of those letters came back to me.” 

Marjorie’s mother leaned forward, trem- 
bling with excitement, 


ii8 Comin Lucy’s Story. 

“And you think she asked. 

“I do not think; I am sure that Marjorie 
is in Bronson Holmes^ keeping. At first this 
idea troubled me greatly. It brought back 
with fearful suddenness the past, in which 
I had so foolishly, perhaps so criminally be- 
haved, when Bronson had said that I strove 
to make playthings of human hearts and hu- 
man affections.” 

Here Miss Lucy smiled a little bitterly as 
she went on, and Marjorie’s mother listened 
breathlessly. 

“For a time I had a fear that Bronson, al- 
ways eccentric, had become unsettled in his 
mind, and that he was keeping Marjorie for 
the child he had lost. But I very soon dis- 
missed this idea, for the tone of the letter is 
not that of a lunatic. Again, a still wilder, 
more unreasonable thought came into my 
mind, that Bronson had discovered Marjor- 
ie’s relationship to me, and that this was a 
scheme of revenge upon his part.” 

Marjorie’s mother clasped her hands. 

“Oh, do you think it could be so?” 

Miss Lucy laughed. 

“Ho, indeed. I very soon dismissed that 
conjecture as still wilder than the other. 


Co'usin Lucy's Story. 119 

Bronson was never of a vindictive nature. 
In fact, he was the gentlest, the most gener- 
ous, of men, as well as the most honorable, 
apart altogether from the improbability of 
such action on his part. So believe me, dear, 
and be happy in the belief, that Marj oriels 
detention is merely one of Bronson^s eccen- 
tric, but benevolent, whims. He means noth- 
ing but good to the little girl.^^ 

The relief was so great that Maijorie’s 
mother said nothing. Perhaps she was pray- 
ing, but no audible sound passed her lips. 

^^But now I must tell you how this theory 
of mine fits into the story Dick has told of 
some mysterious doorway which tempted 
Marjorie. Some years ago I heard a story, 
which was never confirmed, that Bronson 
Holmes had built for his daughter and him- 
self in the very centre of New York, but in 
a somewhat isolated neighborhood, a dwell- 
ing of Oriental splendor, and fairy-like beau- 
ty in its appointments, where he lived like 
a hermit, devoting himself entirely to his 
child and keeping her aloof from the world, 
which, he said, made girls both bard and 
selfish. It was from me that he formed that 
flattering opinion,^’ said Miss Lucy, with the 


190 


Cousin Lucy's Story. 


same half-ironical smile. ^^This house was 
spoken of as ^Holmes’ Folly.’ But I very 
often doubted its real existence, and was per- 
suaded he had left New York altogether.” 

Marjorie’s mother was so rejoiced at all she 
had heard, and felt so convinced that it 
would turn out to Marjorie’s advantage, that 
she thanked her cousin over and over- again 
for having thus raised the veil from her past 
life, and at the same time taken a load from 
an overburdened heart. 

^^How long he will keep Marjorie I cannot 
say,” said Lucy; ^^Dut I don’t think he will 
keep her long without letting you see her. 
He has a very kind heart and, I am sure, 
must he troubled as it is over the anxiety he 
has given you. But now, let me help you 
with the tea, and think no more of this by- 
gone romance. It is old-timey and foolish, 
and quite unworthy of our nineteenth cen- 
tury common-sense. Besides, my prosaic self 
is very poor stuff for a heroine.” 

Marjorie’s mother bent and kissed her 
cousin, while together they bustled about 
preparing tea. Dick was to be brought down 
thait evening for the first time. Before they 
went up to fetch him. Miss Lucy said : 


Cousin Lucy’s Story. 


I2I 


all this matter, however it may turn 
out, I must remain absolutely in the back- 
ground; far better that Bronson should not 
know Marjorie to he a relative of mine, lest 
it should interfere with any of his projects 
concerning her. Besides, with the wisdom 
of my years and its light on how I acted, I 
cannot look Bronson Holmes in the face. 
And I know it would he a great grief to 
him to meet me and he reminded of every- 
thing.^’ 

^^Your wishes shall he respected,” said 
Marjorie’s mother, earnestly. 

^^How splendid everything is since Cousin 
Lucy came to live here,” said Dick, when 
they were all at supper. 

don’t really live here, you know,” 
laughed Cousin Lucy. 

"Well, you’re here a great deal, and mother 
never looks so tired, and we have nice things 
to eat and everything, if we only had Mar- 
jorie.” 

Dick wound up with a gulp, which sound- 
ed like a sob. 

"We will have her, too, before long, please 
God,” said Marjorie’s mother, anxious to 
stop the busy little tongue. "God, Who has 


122 


Cousin Lucy's Story. 


sent us so good a friend, will send back 
Marjorie, too/’ 

hope He will,” said Dick, ‘^and soon.” 

^^You remember,” went on the mother, 
^‘how I used to tell you about the cloud with 
the silver lining. Marjorie’s going away was 
the cloud; Cousin Lucy’s coming, and other 
things, too, are the silver.” 

I know Bronson Holmes, the lining 
will be gold, instead.” 

Miss Lucy said this in a low tone, not 
meant for Dick ; but the boy had sharp ears. 

^^Who is Bronson Holmes?” he asked, pro- 
nouncing the name very distinctly. 

^^The man who lives inside the mysterious 
doorway,” said Cousin Lucy, by a sudden im- 
pulse. 

^Dh, do you know him?” cried Dick, ‘^and 
is there really a man?” 

think there really is.” 

^^And is he keeping Marjorie?” 

Lucy nodded. 

knew she went in that door,” he said, 
triumphantly, adding by an after-thought : 

^^How do you know?” 

But that question Cousin Lucy did not 
answer. 


CHAPTEE XV. 


MABJORIE COMES HOME. 

It was on the very day after the conver- 
sation between Cousin Lucy and Marjorie’s 
mother that the grand carriage which con- 
tained Marjorie and her new friend drove 
round to the humble door which the little 
girl knew as home. The stranger, with Mar- 
jorie, entered the shabby little sitting-room, 
into which presently came a pale and trem- 
bling woman, who seized Marjorie in her 
arms, holding her as if she were never going 
to let her go again. 

Very soon, however, she recovered herself 
and asked the stranger to be seated. So 
handsome and distinguished-looking was he 
that he would have seemed out of place in 
that poor abode, but that his tact and per- 
fect simplicity of manner made it apparent 
that he cared nothing for the shabbiness and 
was bent only on putting every one at ease. 
He began by an apology, very humble and 
123 


124 


Marjorie Comes Home. 


sincere indeed, to Marjorie’s mother for hav- 
ing played such a prank with the little girl. 
Marjorie’s mother, who, despite long years 
of poverty and privation, was a gentlewoman 
nevertheless, answered simply and with dig- 
nity: 

^^You caused me great grief, sir.” 

A look of pain crossed the stranger’s, face . 

^'How thoughtless, how cruel, I have been ! 
I can only plead as my excuse that my note 
to you relieving your anxiety was to have 
reached you on the very evening of Mar- 
jorie’s disappearance. I learned this morn- 
ing that, through the carelessness of a ser- 
vant, it was delayed for fully two weeks.” 

^That is sufficient excuse,” said Marjorie’s 
mother; ^'and, since you have brought me 
great joy now, I must surely forgive you. Be- 
sides, it was partly the fault of my little girl’s 
indiscreet curiosity.” 

Marjorie had flown upstairs to look for 
Dick, so the stranger said: 

^^Marjorie has no faults.” 

"Don’t say that, in her hearing especial- 
ly,” said the mother, smiling nevertheless. 
"She has many a childish fault, though, 
thank Grod, no serious ones.” 


Marjorie Comes Borne. 


125 


"S'he is brave, honest, truthful, kind- 
hearted, quick-witted, and capable of great 
self-sacrifice,^^ said the stranger, warmly. 
^^Surely, that is a list of qualities of which 
you may well be proud.” 

“She has been very much to me,” said the 
mother, tremulously; “more than any stran- 
ger can know.” 

“Will you still forgive me if I tell you that 
I made an effort to take her from you alto- 
gether?” 

There was something so winning in the 
stranger’s voice and manner that Marjorie’s 
mother felt it was easy to forgive him any- 
thing, and she fell to wondering how Lucy 
could ever have been so hard where he was 
concerned. 

“I offered to adopt her and»give her every- 
thing I had if she would only stay as my 
child, in place of one I had lost. But she 
would not give you up, nor her brother, to 
whom she seems also much attached.” 

A proud light came into the mother’s 
eyes. 

“You didn’t know Marjorie when you 
made her that offer,” she said, quietly. 

^^Well, in one sense of the word, I did not 


126 


Marjorie Comes Home, 


mean it,” said the stranger. ‘^Nothing could 
have been done without your consent, and 
I should have been disappointed in Marjorie 
had she consented. So you see what a whim- 
sical being I am,” he added, smiliner. 

Marjorie’s mother smiled, too, though she 
said thoughtfully: 

begin to understand. You were trying 
the child. And yet it was a sore trial; too, 
and in some cases might have been too great 
for human strength. For you, sir, have never 
known, I presume, poverty, privation, toil.” 

The stranger bent his head, as if acknowl- 
edging that in this experience the woman be- 
fore him was his superior. 

^^No, in those respects,” he said, ^^life has 
been made, perhaps, too easy for me. They 
are the real makers of character, and I do 
believe it is a wise Providence which makes 
the greater part of mankind experience 
them.” 

The smile that crossed the face of Mar- 
jorie’s mother was, perhaps, a little bitter. 

^Tt is so easy,” she was thinking, ^Tor rich 
people to talk philosophy to the poor.” 

^^Do not misunderstand me,” said the 
stranger, almost eagerly. ‘T do not under- 


Marjorie Comes Home. 


127 


rate the pain, the discomfort, the weariness. 
Only I think that these things, borne with 
fortitude, gave true nobility to our raxje. 
However, I haven’t come here to talk on 
such weighty subjects. I want to see what 
we can do about arranging a compromise, 
giving me as much as possible of Marjorie, 
while leaving her to you and Dick.” 

While this conversation was going on be- 
low, Marjorie had found Dick, and after a 
joyful greeting on both sides the little girl 
began to talk. 

‘^Oh, Dick,” cried Marjorie, ‘ht was just 
heavenly inside that doorway, if only you 
had come !” 

She hurst into a hurried recital of the 
principal glories of the place, to which Dick 
listened with avidity. 

‘^And you know those two brick houses 
with the white facings?” Marjorie inquired, 
guess I do,” answered Dick. 

^'Well, they’re both empty. Wasn’t it 
ghostly to he near them?” 

^^What are they for?” asked Dick. 

owns them,” said Marjorie, pointing 
downstairs. ^'He’s down there, you know.” 
he?” cried Dick, with awe. 


128 


Marjorie Comes Home. 


brought me home in a lovely car- 
riage,” went on Marjorie. at the door.” 

Dick, feeble as he was, insisted on going to 
the window to see it, and having admired it, 
perceived that the neighbors, especially the 
children, were of the same mind as them- 
selves, for they had gathered round to gaze 
at it. 

^^Why did he keep the houses empty?” 
asked Dick, taking up the thread of the dis- 
course. 

^^Oh, because he didn’t want people look- 
ing out of the window at him. He’s very 
grand and rich, and does what he likes. He’s 
kind, too, and he wasn’t angry at me at all 
for coming in at his door. Oh, Dick! such 
things as he gave me, and some of them are 
for you.” 

^^Where are they?” cried Dick, eagerly. 

^^They’re in a big box downstairs,” said 
Marjorie, ^'a trunk just full of things.” 

wish you could get them out now,” 
said Dick. 

can’t till he’s gone,” said Marjorie. 

^^His name’s Bronson Holmes,” said Dick, 
pronouncing the name very distinctly as be- 
fore. 


Marjorie Comes Home. 


129 


^^How do you know?” asked Marjorie, in 
astonishment. 

“Cousin Lucy told me,” said Dick. 

Marjorie pondered this a moment, a smile 
breaking over her face as she remembered 
all about the picture she had seen on Cousin 
Luc/s desk. Dick, reminded by the men- 
tion of Miss Lucy^s name, now began his 
story. 

“Except for you being gone, if s been just 
splendid here,” he said. “I was very sick.” 

“That wasn't very nice,” said Marjorie. 
“Oh, Dick, were you very, very ill?” 

“Yes; they thought once I was dying, but 
I didn't know,” said Dick. “Cousin Lucy 
lived here nearly all the time, and she helped 
mother; and she gave me lots of nice things 
to eat and to play with.” 

“I'm so glad,” said Marjorie. “And, Dick, 
perhaps he'll let you go in the mysterious 
doorway some day.” 

“I wish he would,” said Dick, wistfully; 
“but we couldn't ask him, could we, Mar- 
jorie?” 

“Perhaps I could,” said Marjorie, a little 
proudly. “I know him pretty well now, and 
rather long, too, because I knew him before 


130 


Marjorie Comes Home. 


I saw him. I want you to see the little girl, 
Dick; she’s lovely.” 

^^Does she live in the doorway?” asked 
Dick, somewhat vaguely. 

^^No, because she’s dead; but her picture 
is there, and — ” 

Marjorie’s narrative was cut short, as she 
was called down to see the stranger before 
his departure. 


CHAPTEK XVI. 


CONCLUSION. 

The children often go inside the myste- 
rious doorway and their mother is a frequent 
visitor there as well. A lady lives in the won- 
derful house, who is so remarkably like Cousin 
Lucy that this might have been held to be 
another of the marvels of the place, had not 
mother and children attended a quiet wed- 
ding one morning at the parish church near 
Miss Lucy’s home. The bride was some one 
that they knew very well indeed, and the 
groom bore a strong resemblance to that 
mysterious personage whom Marjorie had 
first seen as she peeped through the doors of 
carved ebony. 

That particular marvel had, indeed, been 
very simply accomplished. The stranger had 
asked Marjorie to bring him to see her 
Cousin Lucy. One quiet evening, as Miss 
Lucy sat once more under the glitter of the 
131 


132 


Conclusion. 


stars, tliinMiig, Bridget came to tell her that 
Miss Marjorie was below with a gentleman. 
A deadly paleness came into Miss Lucy’s face 
and a strange tightening at her heart. But 
in a few minutes more she was resolutely go- 
ing down the stairs, without one trace of dis- 
composure^ about her. 

Bridget had carried oif Marjorie into the 
regions of the dining-room and pantry, 
where she made much of the lost and found 
one. 

Miss Lucy and the stranger met as two 
well-bred people will, no matter what the 
emotions which the sight of each other 
awakens, especially when time has taught 
them self-control and the art of outward 
composure. But the emotion on either side, 
if repressed, was deep, and they went back 
over all those years of their lives to rectify, 
as far as possible, their mistakes. 

So, instead of Marjorie, it was Miss Lucy 
who went to live at ^^Holmes’ Folly.” But 
the children both might almost as well have 
lived there, they went so often and stayed 
so long; never did they grow weary of the 
beautiful things with which the place was 
overflowing. There was always some new in- 


Conclusion^ 


133 


terest and amusement, just as the owner of 
that wonderful abode and his wife found an 
ever new delight in unravelling the myster- 
ies of the past. 

At first there had even been question of 
mother and children going to live there, but 
Marjorie’s mother insisted that it was better 
they should remain in their own little house. 
It was very comfortable now, though, for 
Mr. Holmes had insisted on carrying out his 
original intention of adopting Marjorie, at 
least to the extent of paying for her educa- 
tion and all other expenses, and of making 
her a handsome allowance. He declared that 
he was doubly anxious to do this now, as 
Marjorie had bee 1 instrumental in bringing 
back his happiness. Miss Lucy had, there- 
upon, declared that Dick must not be alto- 
gether out of the arrangements, and that, as 
she had helped to bring him back to life, she 
would take care of him and make him an al- 
lowance. The mother would accept nothing 
directly for herself, but she had, in fact, 
everything through the children. 

^^Holmes’ Folly” soon lost much of its air 
of mystery. “Miss Lucy,” as Bridget, who 
was also transplanted there, persisted in call- 


134 


Conclusion. 


ing her, counteracted whatever was morbid 
or visionary in her husband. She insisted 
upon hearty and wholesome intercourse with 
friends and neighbors, and did away, as far 
as possible, with needless secrecy. The brick 
houses with the white facings were rented, 
losing thus their ghostly appearance. 

Husband and wife were both devout Cath- 
olics by this time. After many wanderings 
about the world Bronson Holmes had learned 
that religion is, after all, true happiness. In 
his piety, it is true, there was a touch of the 
mysticism which belonged to his charac- 
ter, and to which, perhaps, his long sojourn 
in the East had contributed. Miss Lucy^s 
was of the practical, and yet enthusiastic, 
type; so that ^The Folly” became, indeed, 
a ^^House of Wisdom,” noted as a centre of 
good works. And the children became the 
ministers in a great variety of charities. 
Their aid was sought, and they were permit- 
ted to have a share in all that was going on. 

Thanks to their mother, the old home life 
was, however, still preserved amid all the 
changes. Dick and Marjorie still played to- 
gether as of yore. Marjorie joined in all 
Dick’s games, and shared in all his studies. 


Conclusion. 


135 


And the mother still held her firelight talks 
with them, or read to them from a constant- 
ly increasing store of hooks. 

“How much happiness came from poor lit- 
tle Marjorie’s venture,” said Cousin Lucy, 
thoughtfully, to her husband, “indiscreet and 
foolish as it was.” 

“I shall always love Marjorie,” said Bron- 
son, “if I hadn’t begun to do so when 
she was my solitary guest.” 

There was no tinge of jealousy in the 
smile with which Lucy greeted this declara- 
tion. 

“I love her, too; and Dick also, whom I 
helped to nurse back to life.” 

And the mother, who sat with the children 
in the light of the kitchen fire, which still 
warmed and illumined the little sitting-room, 
said gratefully: 

“Yes, Marjorie, dear, and Dick, a great 
deal of happiness has come to us all through 
the Mysterious Doorway.” 


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